


Sparda's Chosen

by TheWritingSquid



Series: Broken Fates [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bisexual Kyrie, Board Games, Canon-Typical Violence, Extensive Canon Divergence, F/M, Family Fluff, Five AUs in a Trenchcoat Will Change the Universe A Lot, Gen, Other Minor OCs for Story Purposes, and Twin Demon Knight Generals, teenage romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26699914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: The world is on fire, ravaged by an ongoing demon invasions. Credo, Nero, and Lady are sent by the Order of the Sword to save a town under attack, only to find Mundus's two most dangerous generals in the otherwise obscure location. The aftermath of the attack leaves them with both wounds and question, many of which they'll nurse in the comfort of Credo's small house on Fortuna.--First fic of an extensive series in which Dante lost against Mundus on Mallet Island, leaving the Order of the Sword and its young Chosen One as the last bastion of defence for humanity. Expect many canon divergences and a focus on mostly secondary characters (besides Nero) from the games!
Relationships: Credo & Kyrie & Nero (Devil May Cry), Credo & Nero (Devil May Cry), Credo & Sanctus (Devil May Cry), Kyrie & Lady (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Lady & Credo (Devil May Cry), Lady & Nero (Devil May Cry)
Series: Broken Fates [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942993
Comments: 86
Kudos: 93





	1. Twin Destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. Here we are, at the beginning of the Broken Fates AU. This is going to be a long haul, across multiple fics. I poured so many headcanons and AUs into this one, I'm excited for it to come to life! Updates will come weekly (mostly), and each of them will have art! Please check our artists amazing work before or after reading the chapter and give it love, too!
> 
> There's a lot I want to say about this AU. If you read [ for Spardaverse, this is the "Doomed World" Teenero comes from!! Mostly haha. Similarly, I consider ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22528747/chapters/53832667)[Daughter of the Island](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985190/chapters/57694213) to be canon for this verse. But don't worry, there's no need to have read that before this one. Everything is written to stand on its own as one long series.
> 
> This series as a whole is dedicated to my good friend Liz, who through the Spardaverse gave me the spark for so much of it. You rock <3
> 
> With all that said, buckle up y'all, cause the story I have planned is quite the ride!

The twins clung to one another, burning lungs scraping for air in the smoky house, their knees bloodied from one too many falls. They had run as far as they could, scrambling through the debris of their school, leaping over the fallen lamp posts of the city, and dashing into their home, tears streaming down their faces as they watched flames eat at it, too. They should leave, make a break for the hills, _move_ , but it was too much for their exhausted bodies and panicked minds. They had run and run and run, the younger brother clinging to the treasure he’d found in the forest, the older clinging to his brother. They had run, but so had the demons.

One in particular.

He towered over them, a knight in great black armour, flames licking through the plates and out of his helmet’s thin eye sockets. Two horns swept forward from his head, while two others raised up towards the sky like great orange flames. In his chest, a burning red core shone, cheekily exposed, as if the demon could not bother to protect it. He did not need to. Power pulsed out of him, an oppressive weight upon the boys’ chests, the promise of death. He breathed in, a deep rattling sound from the depths of Hell itself, and a dark blade appeared in his hand. 

The boys had seen it before. They had seen it spin so fast the hot gusts of its whirlwind ripped benches off the ground. They had seen it split in the middle, its fiery core unleashing great flames, a single swipe setting entire houses aflame. They had seen it as it ripped through muscles and bones, cutting down neighbours. And now the demon levelled it at them, and they knew their time had come. The older pulled his brother closer, hands gripping his hair as the younger twin shoved his face into his neck with a whimper.

A loud crash shook the house as the demon swung his blade, hot flames trailing with the sweep. Wooden beams and plaster fell from the broken ceiling as a teenager flew down, white coat and blue scarf flapping in the air. He slammed on the ground in front of the twins, a large shimmering steel-blue shield set firmly before him, matching wings curling at his back. An angel, descending from above to save them.

The demon’s sword slammed into his shield, and even though he didn’t hold it with his hands, he grunted under the impact, boot sliding back from the force of it.

“Run.”

The kids didn’t need to be told twice. The older sprinted off, dragging his brother along, the two of them glancing over their shoulders as their angel pointed a burning sword at the demon. Embroidered on his shoulder was a gold and red sword, its pommel shaped like two downturned horns, and an angel wing curled around it. The two of them slowed as they rounded the corner towards the backdoor, awe dampening their better instincts. 

“Is it… ?” the younger boy whispered, still clutching the broken piece of steel he’d found in the forest. It had been embedded in a tree, and everything in a wide circle around it had been calcified, as if burned slowly through the years. 

His older brother squeezed his hand, nodding eagerly. Everyone had heard the rumours of the Order of the Sword’s greatest warrior, a young man of incredible power who appeared when demons attacked, saving villages from destruction. 

“We’ll be fine. Sparda’s Chosen is here.”

###

Nero’s entire body still shook from the sheer strength of this fucker’s blow. It’d smashed into his shield, raw power slamming into his, and for a moment it’d felt like it’d rend every fibre of his soul, tearing him apart from the inside. The sensation had passed as quickly as it’d come, leaving him dizzy and out of breath, and he’d revved Red Queen, grounding himself in the familiar rumble of its motor under his fingers. He could do this. He had Sparda’s power behind him and a whole town to save.

If the demon thought him any threat, he didn’t bother to show. His head lifted as the two kids ran, flame eyes tracking them, and he leaped with a snort, two leathery wings snapping behind him as he tried to vault over Nero. 

“Oh no you don’t!”

Nero shot both wing-arms out, the gigantic clawed hands at the end wrapping around the demon’s plated boots and yanking him back down. The heavy body slammed face-first into the ground, smashing the wooden floor apart, and Nero rushed right in. He’d met this demon before and knew better than to give it the chance to recover.

Red Queen bit through his thigh’s flesh, but as Nero came down with a second, powerful overhead slash, the demon flipped around and caught the blade in his right hand. He grunted as it dug into his palm, but the pain didn’t seem to otherwise bother him. It sure didn’t stop him from getting to his knees, then shoving Nero back with inhuman strength. Nero stumbled back, out of balance, and the demon flew at him. The thick muscled body smashed into his chest, crushing the breath out of his lungs, and claws dug along his shoulders and back, dragging a scream out of Nero. His skin sizzled under the demon’s heat, burning, and he could barely keep track of his surroundings through the growing pain. The two of them crashed through a wall and his vision blanked briefly upon impact. When he came to, he’d hit the ground, Red Queen was no longer in his hand, and the demon’s fist prepared to come down and reduce his face into pulp. Nero wondered briefly how he’d manage to lose this fight so quickly, to be so utterly useless.

At least he’d have saved these two kids before he died.

A thick triangular blade sank into the fist, and the cable tied to it tensed as the weapon's owner came flying, boots first. Red soles smashed into the fist, bracing against it, and Lady clung to her huge rocket launcher with one hand and smacked the barrels of her shotgun in the demon's face. 

"Let's see you heal from that, asshole."

She pressed the trigger, and the demon's head snapped back as the shells burst out. He'd heal, Nero knew. They'd once rammed Red Queen right through his chest and twisted it, and this fucker had shrugged it off within a minute. Still, he took the opening. Nero rolled away, grabbing the dropped Red Queen as Lady somersaulted back, landing besides him. She was already placing new shells in her shotgun, and the two of them took a few steps back.

"Credo got most villagers out," she said. "Ain't much more else we can do."

Yeah there was. They could kill this monster, this asshole demon knight who kept showing up. That'd help the whole damn world, and the Saviour knew it needed all the help it could get. He revved Red Queen, lowering it into a ready position, ignoring the throbbing in his head and flaming pain in his back.

"Let's just clear the unfinished business, then," he said, nodding at the demon. "You up for a little extra on your pay? I'm sure we can get the Order to shell out for one of Mundus's generals head."

Lady scoffed. "We don’t know he's a general." That didn't stop her from readying the Kalina Ann.

Nero smirked right back at her. "Ain't no one to contradict us if it's what we say." 

Her eyebrows shot up, and Nero didn't need her to voice the name in her mind. Credo _would_ do it, but he'd been the first to note the frequent presence of this demon, especially on important missions. Why the fuck he was _here_ , in an obscure village… Whatever. No time to think about it now: the demon spread his glowing red wings and lowered his blackened sword. Bright orange light covered the scales under the helmet Lady had blown partly off, but he otherwise didn't seem injured. This wasn't gonna be easy.

Steeling himself for the rough battle, Nero sprinted back into the fray, Lady's rapid gunfire following his every step.

###

Credo pulled his sword out of a winged demon’s guts, grimacing as they spilled out on him, adding to the many stains of his uniform. He set the thought aside for later—for when he would be home and would no doubt fight with Kyrie about how to best remove said stains—and focused on the fight. Demons had completely overrun the small town, setting several houses on fire, freezing others over… leaving behind them a trail of death his team had done their best to stem. Everyone left alive had made it safely to the scraggly hills by the town and hidden in a cave. Credo should have been defending that entrance, ensuring no demons reached the townspeople while Lady and Nero cleared the down.

He had stayed with the villagers at first, his very presence enough to calm panicked parents and restore a semblance of order. Credo had gone around, advising on how to tend to the wounded and what they needed to account for—food, water, medical supplies, and so on. Guiding broken villages in the aftermath of a demon attack had become a routine operation for him. Every week, new portals opened—briefly, often, but that sufficed to unleash death upon unprepared towns. 

He had repeatedly petitioned the Supreme General to put together small teams of knights that’d travel between towns and educate them on how to counter demon attacks, or at least buy themselves time and hold until the Order arrived, but His Holiness did not think they could spare the resources for such an enterprise, not when they had to run from one crisis to another. He wasn’t _wrong_ —their forces were stretched thin—and yet Credo couldn’t help but feel that basic demonic knowledge would save many lives and ease their task when they arrived in besieged villages. 

Credo resolved to ask again, perhaps even volunteer for it. Nero would need to remain on the front lines, of course, but he had grown so much over the last few years. Perhaps he didn’t need Credo as much anymore. He wielded his blade better than most knights, had powers even those of Ascended troops couldn’t hope to rival, a demonic sword that could lend him even more… and he’d even started to keep his temper in check. Proof that miracles did happen, even in this life.

For now, however, Credo had lives to save. Two young lives, in fact, according to the mother who’d grabbed his entire arm, pleading for help. She must have been in her late thirties, her curls flattened by grease and dirt, her nose hooked from a break that healed wrong. Despair gave her a strange energy, however, and as she’d told Credo that her twins were still out there, he knew she would run after them if he did not. 

Credo had set a reassuring hand on her shoulder and met her wide brown eyes, his calm unbreakable, grounding. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll find your sons.”

He was not supposed to abandon the rest of the town for the sake of two children, but how could he not? They were mostly safe here, out of the way, with a single entrance to guard. Credo called volunteers to his side—a pair of friends who’d resisted panic in the thick of evacuation and proved a great help to him—and handed them each one flask of precious holy water, to defend the rest of their people with. 

Then he dashed out of the cave, back towards the demon-infested streets. Monstrous creatures met him without delay. Credo slaughtered the first group of agile devils with serrated claws and deadly stingers, their skin a sickly white with pulsing veins of green. Every strike, his sword found purchase, spraying green ichor on the trees around and eliminating one more demon. Credo continued onward, resolute strides barely slowed by the extermination of these minions.

As he arrived in the town proper, he spotted the explosions and flashes of light marking his partners’ location and stomped down his urge to rush to them and assist. He might loathe her ethics, but Lady knew her work and didn’t waste resources. This many grenades and rockets could only mean a powerful enemy. _His_ task, however, was to protect the citizens—or in this case, find the wayward twins. The three of them made a good team because they trusted one another, and he needed to stick to the plan despite his worry for their safety.

Credo smashed his shield into a demon’s face (if one could call the amalgam of bulbous flesh and eyes this one had a face), stepped into the opening created, and pierced it through with his sword. Three more leaped from the nearby roof to take its place, forcing Credo to stop and clear his path. He used his shield as a weapon, either catching claws into the nooks of his it to divert and unbalance enemies, allowing him to step into closer range and inflict deadly wounds, or smashing the heavy object into weaker demons and using their stunned recoil to his advantage. Demons came in countless shapes and forms, and where Nero adapted with impressive creativity and impulse, Credo had trained himself to switch from defense to offense on a whim, lending a much needed flexibility to his well-honed battle routines.

A scream pierced the air, briefly covering the demonic growls and snarls. A child’s wail, full of terror. Credo’s head snapped in its direction—a mistake which nearly cost him a leg. He reflexively slammed the pointed tip of his shield down on the crocodile-like beast’s head before teeth snapped around his ankle, then slashed through his neck. The blood was still spraying as he jumped over it, running along its scaled back and in the general direction of the scream.

A quick sprint later, Credo emerged into the desolate, ashy remains of what must have been a quaint public square with a lush central park. The great oak in the middle burned bright and high, charred branches extending like fingers clenched in pain towards the sky.

And beneath them, a dark knight held a boy at arm's length, clawed gauntlets digging into the thin arm. The second twin lay at his feet, his head bleeding from a nasty gash as he struggled to get back up. He slipped back right away, smashing his chin and drawing an alarmed cry from his brother, who seemed more concerned about him than the danger he was so clearly in. Credo's blood curdled in his veins and he dashed out.

"Let him go!"

The knight's head turned to him. Red eyes burned in the sockets of his helmet, and two horns jutted from it, curving downward threateningly. Credo had seen this knight before, always equipped with the same pairs of massive gauntlets and greaves lined with a purple, shining light. Demonic power rippled out of them and the knight itself, and only a hasty retreat had kept him and Nero alive in their first face off. He did not relish facing this one alone, but he saw little choice, not with the twins at his mercy. Protecting these people was his duty, no matter the cost. 

Credo raised his sword, fell into a fighting stance, and met the knight’s gaze. “I said—”

“As you wish.” 

The deep voice rumbled from the helmet, calm and to the point. Without ever releasing Credo’s gaze, the demon’s gauntlets closed tight on the boy’s arm, crushing bones with a heartbreaking crunch and a brutal snap. The boy screamed, dropping the bundle he’d clung to despite desperate times. The demon knight caught it, then flung the boy at arm’s length, throwing him high and far—a flight that could only end with a shattered skull. Credo’s insides squeezed and he reached within, a prayer to the Saviour on his lips.

The Saviour answered, flooding his body with divine power. A golden light emerged from his skin as it hardened and sprouted thick feathers, his muscles bulged with renewed strength, and powerful claws burst through his boots. The tail of his coat twisted on itself, transforming into a tail, and a single, great wing snapped out of his back, jerking him forward. His heart hammered at the dizzying power flowing through him, coalescing in great part in his gigantic Aegis shield. Credo wondered if he’d ever get used to the brutal shift into his angelic form or if Sparda’s blessing would always leave him dazed. Then his acute hearing caught the choked sobs of one twin, and his gaze snapped to the thrown one.

Credo leaped up, ground cracking under his feet where he took off. He flew at the child, scooping him up on the inside of the shield before spinning around, the wave of demonic energy pursuing him too dire a warning to ignore. His sword deflected a gauntlet aimed for his face, and only a quick beat of his wing kept him out of the following uppercut. It left the demon open, but Credo ignored his chance for a counterstrike and let his momentum carry him away. He couldn’t fight like this, a boy right on the other side of his shield, clinging to his wrist with his only good arm. 

“Hang on tight, kid. I’ve got you.”

His voice had an ethereal quality to it in this form, crystalline and deep. The boy whimpered in response and his tiny fingers dug into the feathery skin.

Three bright lances appeared by Credo’s side and he shot them off one after the other. They tore through the sky, white light blinding, but the knight twisted out of the first’s path, then kicked the second back into the third. Credo landed as sparks showered the plaza, and with a quick kneel he set the child down.

“Run. Get to your brother.”

Broken arm kept tight to his chest and tears streaming down his face, the boy dashed away. The demon knight pounded on Credo’s shield as the child left, sending him stumbling with a yelp, but he kept his balance and didn’t look back. Credo gritted his teeth as a second hit smashed into the Aegis Shield and let its holy powers absorb the blow. It flowed from it and through him, and his fingers tightened around his great sword’s handle as he prepared to jump into battle proper.

He slammed his shield forward, pushing back the knight as he led with a wide swipe of his golden blade. Sparks flew as it met the demonic gauntlet, and Credo followed up his attack without pause. He knew what this monster was capable of, knew his angelic speed would be matched, if not surpassed, but he could not let fear sway his resolve. What he needed was discipline and focus—and, Credo realized as he chained several attacks only to see each of them parried with ease, the sense to retreat when it became too much. 

He gritted his teeth; already, the fight was slipping from him. He’d led the offense twice, his strikes powerful and calculated, aiming at the cracks in the armour, but he hadn’t gotten anywhere close to slicing through the knight, and now his opponent was turning the tide and pressing down on him. Punches and kicks followed each other, slamming with formidable strength into the Aegis shield. Credo groaned, his entire body recoiling with each impact. The gauntlets’ demonic energy battled his shield’s, draining it with every strike, chipping away at its reserves. Credo gripped it tighter, studying the knight’s movements… and as the demon punched forward, he plunged forward into a roll only less encumbered fighters would normally try. He released the angelic form—a gamble, for sure—but the shield shrinked as he did, allowing him greater mobility. Credo rolled on his shoulder, coming back up with a brutal slash, and he smiled grimly as the edge sliced through armour then flesh.

The black knight staggered, and Credo had a second to savour his victory.

A demonic greave smashed into his side, a flash of purple blinding him as his ribs cracked under the impact and he flew off. Pain blurred Credo’s senses: his sight darkened, his ears rung, his tongue tasted acrid blood. For a moment, he lost track of himself—then he smashed shoulder-first into a wall, and all air left his lungs.

One thought pierced the pain with exquisite clarity: he was about to die.

Credo blinked through the tears, his vision unfocused and refusing to cooperate. Every muscle burned, his spine felt like crushed powder under the skin, and no matter how hard he tried, Sparda’s blessing escaped him, flitting through his body only to slip out immediately. Credo steadied his breath then struggled to bring an elbow under him, to lift his body and face death as it came for him. His swamping sight cleared at last.

The great demon stood in the middle of the plaza, not a step closer than he had been before, his head turned away. And then Credo heard, through the pounding in his ears, a familiar and beloved voice scream.

He would recognize Nero’s voice among a thousand, had listened to it as he’d been just a young child, crying for parents that no longer existed, as he’d grown into a determined and energetic preteen, always ready to brawl, and more recently, on the battlefield as they fought side by side. He knew Nero’s voice, knew the way it sounded enraged or anguished, and he knew without the slightest doubt that this last scream… 

Pain, he thought, and despair weighed his limbs as he watched the demon knight leap from the middle of the plaza to the closest roof, then again in Nero’s general direction. He couldn’t leave Nero alone, not now, not if he was in danger, too.

Credo struggled against his slippery consciousness, set a knee under himself, and grabbed the hilt of his sword. Despite the searing pain in his lungs and the sharp stabs of his ribs with every step, he trudged across the plaza, praying to the Saviour that Nero would hold on long enough for him to arrive.

###

The burning sword ripped through Nero’s side. He’d never seen the strike coming, couldn’t even fathom how it’d gotten there when he was still staring at the actual blade, too shellshocked to even register the scream that had burst out of him, or the boot coming for him. It smashed right where his belly had been torn open, sending a new powerful wave of pain through him. Every inch of his body lit up, a bolt of agony coursing through him, numbing the outside world until there was nothing but his bleeding, battered body, his legs giving in under him, and the ground rushing up to meet him.

Rockets exploded above him, the shockwave pressing him harder into the ground. His mouth tasted dirt and everything smelled of smoke and fire, and he was dimly aware of red boots stomping down on each side of his head and the staccato of bullets. _Lady._

A cool sensation spread to his torn side and his head cleared, each bullet ringing clearer and clearer above him. Nero spat blood on the ground, snatched up Red Queen, and scrambled back to his feet. The entire side of his Order outfit was splattered with red now, and the rest sported stains of soot, dirt, and demon innards. Fuck. He was gonna get an earful from Credo again. What was he supposed to do? Every goddamn fight they got stabbed and splashed on! With an irritated huff, he snapped the coat back and returned his attention to the fight. 

Except this knight—this motherfucking demon—had found his friend.

One step behind Lady, Nero stared as the demon he’d been fighting for Saviour-knew-how-long stood with his blade pointed at the second of Mundus’s croonies they kept running into. The two had a similar build, but where his red, blazing knight kept his core exposed and his horns high, the other had a full armour, downturned horns, and no swords—only his black gauntlets and greaves, cracked with purple. It was _speaking_ , voice cracked and low, vibrating with power and yet perfectly understandable.

“I have what we sought. There is no need to prolong our stay.” Mister Fancy Boots opened his gauntlet, and the purple light of it glinted off a metallic shard. 

He received no answers, only an annoyed huff. The second demon pointed his fiery sword at them.

“Another time,” Fancy Boots replied.

He closed his hand over the shard, and then these two fuckers _flew off_. No big deal, no need even for wings for the second one! They just leaped into the sky, a portal shimmering into existence above them.

“Hey!” Nero called. “No way!”

He sprinted after them, legs and side screaming with every stride, and his own wings shimmered to life behind him. Lady’s rocket followed him as he jumped up, and with a flick of his wings he brought himself above it, his boots landing onto the hot metal. He revved Red Queen as he grew closer, controlling the rocket’s flight with his weight, bringing himself ever closer. Blood still poured out of his wound, but Nero only gritted his teeth and endured the pain. He wasn’t letting them get away like this!

Two helmets turned his way as he neared and Nero met their burning red glares without hesitation. He timed himself, hands sweaty in his gloves, his heart pounding, and at the last possible moment, he pounced off from the rocket, swinging Red Queen in a burning red arc.

A quick kick from the demonic greave parried his attack, and the last thing Nero heard before they vanished into the portal was the mocking scoff from the other red demon.

He cursed, anger burning so hot through him it scorched away his pain. One day he’d get them! He didn’t care how powerful they were, or deadly, or whatnot. He’d slice that armour into tiny pieces and stab them through. 

Nero spun himself midair—he was falling now, from far higher than he should be. Even with his wings, that landing was gonna suck. Probably reopen his just-closed wounds (thank Sparda’s blessing or whatever for that rapid healing). Welp. Nothing to do but brace for it.

A flash of white caught at the edge of his vision, growing fast as he fell, defining itself into a tall angel with a purple heart, beautiful feathers, and a long shield. He smiled, a jolt of warm relief coursing through him. Would there ever be a day the very sight of Credo didn’t reassure him somewhat? He cheekily waved at the man even though he was two seconds away from hitting the ground hard and didn’t expect his legs to hold. 

Credo’s flight came to a quick stop as he pulled up, and even at this distance Nero _felt_ the eyeroll and exasperated sigh. He flung the Aegis shield out, his aim and timing perfect to slide it right under Nero’s feet a split second before he smashed into the street. The shield absorbed the impact and shot it right back into the earth, tearing it apart with a bone-shaking crack, lifting chunks of rocks and sending others flying. Lady had to fling herself away to avoid one.

A great cloud of dust rose all around Nero’s impact site, yet he still heard the mercenary turn as Credo landed nearby.

“Ya trying to kill me? Cause there’s a clause in the contract if that happens, and you still got to pay!”

“I hold no illusions we would ever get out of paying you,” he replied. And, fuck… Credo was always a bit sharp with Lady, but something else clipped his voice now. Nero flipped the shield up—it’d grown back to its big-but-not-massive non-angelic form—and limped his way closer as his brother continued. “Nor would we make such an attempt.”

“You better not.” Lady set her rocket launcher against the ground and leaned on it. She had her fair share of cuts and bruises too, including a nasty gash along her leg. “Everyone safe?”

“In the hills, yes.” Credo turned towards the edge of the town, only to wince at the movement and bring his arm close to his side. He held himself still, his back straight and his chin up, but Nero had known him too long to miss out how deep in pain he had to be. He was about to ask when Credo lifted a hand to interrupt him. “There were two boys. Twins. I saved them from one of the knights and I had killed most demons between the hills and myself, but…”

“I’ll check on ‘em,” Lady said. “You two take a moment before you both crumble where you stand.”

Crumble? Nero scowled and stepped forward. “I’m fine. I can still—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lady interrupted, waving dismissively. “You can fight, so you guard Mister Stick-Up-The-Ass there. I take care of the villagers.”

“Lady,” Credo snapped, bristling at the less-than-kind nickname. She raised her eyebrows at him, to which he only sighed. “Must we pay you for the respect, too?”

“Well, if you’re so kind to suggest it…” She half-bowed to him, smirking.

He glared at her, his calm frown failing to hide how properly upset he was by her behaviour. “That money could be put to much better use.”

“Then keep it.” She picked up the Kalina Ann and set it against her shoulder. “Your Order is filthy rich. Fortuna’s the only place in this piss poor world with decent houses, fresh vegetables and plenty of meat, and no real fear of being wiped out by demons.” Lady offered him a dismissive shrug and walked right past him with a smile and wave. “You don’t have to pay me with money. Maybe you could offer me some decent fucking lodgings and a good meal when I’m stopping by because of one of your missions, and I’d stop being such a bitch.” 

Nero had to bit down his laugh at the sour curl in Credo’s lips. That was totally his ‘fuck I’m in the wrong’ face, and it was always oh so satisfying to see! He silently blessed Lady for that rare sight and handed his brother the shield, unable to quite hide his smile. Not really trying either. It was too funny, okay?

Credo accepted back the Aegis Shield with a sigh, but the pinched lips had already been replaced by an apologetic frown. 

“Lady,” he called out. She stopped and turned, tilting her head as she waited for him to choose his next words. “I cannot make any promises on the behalf of the Order, but perhaps for the moment, you would accept dinner at my house… as a personal apology?”

Wow, every word from that must have taken a lot out of him, yet Credo made them all sound so smooth and proper! Nero couldn’t tell if he was jealous or if the thought of ever being like that made his skin crawl. It was just so not-him!

“Your place?” Lady slid her thumb under the Kalina Ann’s strap. “You even know how to cook?”

“You kidding?” Nero asked, eyes going wide. And oh boy, this was totally his chance to embarrass Credo! He wasn’t going to give the shy little fuck a second to dissemble. “He’s the best cook in the whole ass island! Ya don’t wanna miss out on that offer.”

The red hit Credo’s cheeks hard and fast, but he steadily kept his gaze on Lady, lips pressed together as if this was nothing at all and he wasn’t wishing he could melt into the ground. Nero grinned, proud of himself, as Lady smiled at them.

“Then I accept. You two take care, and I’ll check on our wayward twins. Meet up at the hills?”

“At the hills,” Credo confirmed. 

Lady nodded, then dashed off without another word, disappearing around a corner. Nero immediately prodded him in the ribs, but his teasing died out as Credo hissed in pain. He frowned and set a hand on his brother’s shoulder, his own latent throbbing forgotten. 

“Ya all right there, Credo?”

And now that Lady was gone and no one was left but them, two exhausted brothers in the midst of a burning town, Credo let go. He closed his eyes, shoulders slumping, his weight leaning into Nero’s solid hand. Nero’s heart tightened at the sight, and his wings emerged without a second thought, steadying him further.

“Give me a moment. Just one.” He sheathed his sword and closed his eyes, fingers tightening around Nero’s forearm. “I am glad to be here now, with you.”

Well, that didn’t sound ominous at all. Nero didn’t need to ask what had brought it on, though, not with the amount of blood and tears on Credo’s own outfit. The two of them had been through too many close calls already, every single fight. Sometimes it felt like it was only a matter of time before one of them bit the bullet. Nero squeezed Credo a bit tighter, but the words stayed stuck in his throat.

They stayed like that, watching the flames consuming the surrounding houses, plumes of smoke marking each house they couldn’t save, each life ruined by demons they couldn’t stop. Credo’s ‘moment’ stretched on in heavy silence, the weight of the world as difficult to endure as their wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone starts out in perfect shape, nothing bad going on here. :]
> 
> Also, I did this week's art, so if you want a dramatic rendition of Nelo vs Credo, [head over on twitter](https://twitter.com/writingsquid/status/1310982991443890181).


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the demons pushed back, Lady, Credo, and Nero settle down around a campfire to contemplate the strange brutality of this attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Features artist this week is Kota Stoker. Go check out the lovely campfire rendition on [twitter](https://twitter.com/KotaStoker/status/1313511843583926275) and [tumblr](https://kota-stoker.tumblr.com/post/631243394808676352)!!
> 
> And now, onto the plot-soup chapter haha.

Burning pain spread through Credo’s midriff, but he nevertheless spent part of the remaining afternoon helping the villagers douse the fires in their homes, putting order to their panicked chaos so that they might battle the disaster as efficiently as possible. Smoke filled his lungs, his head spun, and as time passed, the simple act of holding onto any line of thoughts became almost impossible. He watched shell-shocked people stumble between collapsed debris and demon bodies, their pain seeping into his mind until nausea gained him, and knew he needed to move away. He was no use to them if he could not maintain some distance from their loss and keep his head on.

Reluctantly, Credo took himself to the infirmary, where the more medically-inclined survivors would happily direct him up until he collapsed from the broken ribs, at which point he would be where he needed to be and no one would waste time carrying him there. 

His boots dragged as he pushed aside the hastily-installed curtain leading inside, and the stench of blood welcomed him in. This must have been the town hall, or some community buildings. All tables had been converted to makeshift beds, though thankfully most wounded villagers could sit, or only needed temporary respite.

He knew, deep down, that this only meant the others had been devoured by demons before they could flee, that the absent grievous injuries only meant these people had failed to be protected, but he did not have the mental space to fully acknowledge and accept that. Not yet.

“It’s him!”

A small voice greeted him as he slunk into the infirmary, immediately followed by another.

“See, I told you he’d be alive.”

Credo’s gaze latched onto the two boys he’d saved, sitting next to one another on a large table. One of them had his arm in a sling, but they only had a few scratches otherwise. Their mother sat behind, exhausted but nowhere near as drawn out and hunched over as earlier. 

“Captain,” she said, her voice a tight ball of feelings. “How could I ever thank you?”

Relief slammed into him, and the onslaught washed away what stubborn strength he had left. His vision darkened and he wobbled, his legs turning to melted wax, and barely caught himself on the closest table.

“A-a chair, perhaps?” 

His voice sounded miles away. Something pressed against his legs, then a firm hand sat him down and someone pressed a glass of water in his hand. Credo drank, giving his sight time to return. He offered an apologetic smile. 

“It has been a long day,” he said.

“Yes.”

And they had many more to come, though Credo would have left by then, either towards another portal opening or to report to the General, in Fortuna. They never stayed long after an attack, never helped to rebuild. Credo knew they were needed elsewhere, yet it always left a bitter taste in his mouth. He said nothing, and neither did she. They shared that silence gratefully, two adults reeling from the world.

Children, however, were much more resilient, and the twin boys had soon launched into a joint retelling of how cool Sparda’s Chosen had been, stopping the first big red demon, and then of him, facing the purple knight alone. Whatever fear they had experienced seemed replaced by boundless enthusiasm at the heroics witnessed, yet Credo could not help but frown.

“You faced not one, but two of them?” he asked.

Mirror pouts greeted his question. “The red one chased us all the way from the forest.”

All the way? They were lucky to have survived long enough for the Order’s small trio to get to the village in time. The nearby forest was as devastated as the human habitations, and from the snatched bits of conversation Credo had overheard, most demons had first emerged from it. He stared at the boys, an itch at the back of his mind, like a thought wanting to be born but unable to push through the veil of his exhaustion.

“It is good that we came,” he said, and then added to the one with a broken arm, “I hope that heals well.”

“Doc Elena says I’m lucky to even have an arm!” he exclaimed, and he _grinned_ , proud to have somehow managed that, and Credo could not help his tired laugh.

He passed grimy, bloodied fingers through the boy’s curls. “Sparda watched over you. Give me your name, and I will gladly pray for him to continue to do so.”

“He’s Piers,” the mother provided, before putting a hand on the second twin’s shoulder. “That’s Evan.”

Credo thanked her for the names, but this earned him a profusion of ‘there is no need’ and ‘we are thankful to Sparda’ which he had no energy to interrupt. He told himself it was a good thing, that their faith had spread so fast in the years following Mundus’s invasion, that people trusted the Order and called upon them and Sparda, but he had never grown accustomed to having the same praise and deference heaped upon him. Credo served to the best of his abilities, honing the latter with diligence and watching over the true heir to Sparda’s power, and while he took great pride in his own strength and resilience, that was the domain of the personal. He did not like being treated as a hero.

Sometimes it was easier to let them, and to lean onto their gratefulness to encourage greater faith. He repeated promises of supplies to help them through the tough times, even knowing surrounding farmlands had seen their share of destruction and that the Order’s resources were stretched thin. People needed hope, and that was harder to come by every day. 

Sooner or later, he must have fallen asleep, as he did not remember the sun setting, yet no outside light framed Nero as the teenager shook his shoulder, insisting he should return to their camp and eat with them. The burning pain in his midriff had transformed into a low throb—the ascension blessing finally catching up, perhaps—so Credo pushed himself to his feet and followed outside.

###

Lady trained her eyes on the surrounding bushes, hunting rifle in hand. Good cottontail spot, the farmer had told her, and she could see how the surrounding areas provided good shelter for rabbits. Her muscles ached from a long day of demon hunting, but this much more mundane one helped settle her racing nerves. She moved through the bushes in staccato movements, rushing forward then stopping for a minute, knowing the little beasts had no nerves to speak of and could easily be flushed through sheer fear alone.

What would the teenage city girl think of her now, covered in dirt and blood, shiny purses replaced by a dozen of ammunition pouches and gun holsters, a thick crust of mud on her boot as she moved through wilderness to kill rabbits? Did it even matter? That girl’s main worries had been getting drunk friends home safe and crafting her next fashionable dress or accessory. She’d had no idea what was happening under her roof, or what the world held in store for her. She’d been resourceful, though. Her name might have changed—one life replaced with another—but that quality had stayed.

A burst of movement from the left; Lady spun around as her eyes snapped to the skittering rabbit. The rifle came down in a flash, she pulled the trigger, not worried for a second she’d make the shot. This had become routine by now. Help a village survive (partially so, most of the time) a demon attack, leave the Order boys to kickstart the rebuilding, and set up camp for them somewhere quieter, dinner included. She didn’t mind hunting for them. Lady needed the time alone, away from weeping villagers and their raw loss. She couldn’t handle that, not when her own wounds refused to close. At least this way she had time to wrestle herself under control and focus on the task at hand and the reward at the end.

Which, apparently, included dinner this time. Lady couldn’t help her smirk as she kept her stop-and-go routine to flush another rabbit. She’d flustered Credo by throwing the truth of the Order’s amassed wealth at his face, and while she’d mostly done it to get a rise out of him—an easy task, if there ever was any—she’d meant those words. Everyone was struggling to get by, and while most on Fortuna Island weren’t rolling in riches, they still enjoyed comforts no one else had anymore. And the higher ups were _definitely_ still decking themselves in gold and eating whole-ass feasts like some fucked up medieval kings. Sanctus was enjoying his position as the only defender of the world a little too much—not that she could do anything about it. Everything was fucked up, but it’d be doubly so without the Order.

Lady pulled her thought away from there. The Order paid, which was more than most others could afford, and that’d always make them one of her best clients. It helped that they kept pairing her with their star child and his grumpy guardian and while she could have used less of Credo’s preaching about Sparda and the Order’s benevolence, the man himself was more than hot air filling up a sleek uniform—which made him less insufferable than most of the Order’s goons.

Still. They weren’t partners. She didn’t do that anymore. So maybe the meal was a bad idea. Why get comfortable with people in a world that ripped them away in a flash?

The bush to her left exploded in a burst of movement, and for a moment she almost didn’t bother, didn’t turn and shoot. But she was a professional, going through the motions of life more often than not, and she spun nonetheless. The rabbit fell dead in a second, and Lady stomped to it, swiping it off the floor.

This was her life. She was making the most of it, and killing as many demons as she could. That’s all they deserved—for what they’d taken from her, what they took from others, and what they’d keep taking as years went on. She didn’t really expect the Order to save them or put an end to Mundus’ rampage. It’d be ludicrous to expect an angry teenager to succeed where _he’_ d failed, really, but she’d take her revenge on whatever demons she could—and working with Nero and Credo at least tended to lead her to the powerful ones.

Lady headed back towards the small campsite she’d built for their team, rabbits in tow. She’d have plenty of work to busy her hands and mind cleaning and prepping those, then double-checking on her arsenal to evaluate how much ammo she had left, and make sure everything stayed in tip-top condition for the next fight. Routine work was always good for days when melancholy clung to her, and as the anniversary of Dante’s disappearance approached, those always got more common. 

The forest’s condition followed the state of her thoughts, its sturdy trees turning into charred sticks as she progressed through the parts demons had invaded. The camp was just on the other side—close enough that any monster they’d missed would likely come for them, but not so close that it’d stink of smoke all night. Lady had found a small stream rolling down a steep descent, the rocks curving around it into an easily defensible space. 

Her determined steps faltered as a detail caught the edge of her vision. The trees on her left weren’t so much burned as reduced to thin scraggly black lines, many thinner than her forearm. She hesitated—demon bullshit was gonna bullshit, after all, and the throb in her wounded leg was getting worse—but curiosity won over prudence. Unholstering a pistol, she crept closer. 

In the middle of the black rod trees was a single, almost healthy one. It’d look perfectly normal if not for the blackened cut in its trunk, as if a blade of some sorts had been planted in its middle. The grass in front of the tree had all been burnt away, yet the space behind stayed healthy. Lady scowled and approached, but with every step closer, a weight settled against her chest, pressing until she could barely breathe. She knew that feeling, had first felt it atop the Temen-ni-gru as the veil tore above her head, and frequently since. A rift had existed here, and the demon world remained close at hand. 

Her fingers hovered above the slash in the trunk, but she didn’t dare touch it. No time to be messing around, exhausted from a day of fighting, her leg wounded, her backup in the village, too far to help. She made note of the location and continued on her way. Credo and Nero were both more attuned to this sorta shit and might have more to say in the morning.

Once at the camp, Lady set the weird tree out of her mind and fell into the tasks. She cleaned and bandaged her leg’s deep cut—a gift from that accursed general, whose reflexes, battle hardiness, and healing were annoyingly unequalled—then prepared the two rabbits for dinner. She lost herself in the work, cleaning her guns once the rabbits were cooking, and by the time the boys came up the hill and to the camp, the sun had vanished from the horizon and her stomach rumbled at the exquisite scent of roasted bunnies. 

Nero smelled it too. He gasped as he spotted them, spread on a grill and wrapped in aluminium, and slipped out from under Credo’s arm with unabashed glee. “I’m starving!”

The older knight stumbled, surprised at the sudden lack of support, barely keeping his feet under him. He scowled at Nero’s back as the teenager rushed for the campfire, but his furrowed brows couldn’t completely hide the smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“All it takes is a little food…” he mumbled. 

Nero’s steps faltered but he didn’t stop, and Lady could only laugh. “Can’t fault a boy his priorities.”

Credo’s raised eyebrows said _“I can”_ but he did not comment, only trudged his way to the fire and sat with a long groan. Poor dude sounded like an old man even though he was probably a few years younger than Lady. Exhaustion creased his face, and his usually neat little triangle beard had its fair of wild strands.

“Must have been quite the beating, if Sparda’s great blessing didn’t put you right back on your feet,” she said.

He inclined his head in her direction. “I believe I would be dead. Internal bleeding from broken ribs.”

Nero’s excited poking at the wrapped up rabbit stopped, his head snapping towards Credo, his hand grabbing the older man’s shoulder. “Don’t say shit like that! You’re fine. You’d have been fine.”

Credo placed a hand over Nero’s but kept his eyes on the fire. “I am, Nero. This is why they send us. We can fight on equal ground with demons, and we must never forget the responsibility that comes with our blessings.”

Lady bit back a snort. _She_ didn’t heal like them, but the Order didn’t care about that. She was a mercenary, an expandable extra as far as they were concerned. They probably thought they could find another if she died—good luck with that, really. Most of the demon hunters that had risen in the wake of the Tearing of the Veil had perished within a few years, too untrained and unprepared. A handful remained, but she still had seven full years of experience over them. There were _no_ better demon hunters than her—which her prices reflected, of course.

“Eat up, it’ll help.” 

Lady grabbed the camping plates at her side and flung them over the fire, letting them unwrap the rabbit and pick out which bits they wanted most. The three of them had eaten on the road so often, words were no longer needed, and before long they all had a small plate of steaming rabbit and potatoes, salted herbs their only seasoning. 

Lady only picked half-heartedly at her food, questions spinning around her mind. So many things felt off about this mission, and her unease and frustration had only grown through the afternoon. She waited for Credo to have cleaned a significant chunk of his plate out of deference for his wounds, then stretched lazily and went on the offensive. 

“The Order calling this a routing defense mission is bullshit,” she stated.

Credo’s eyes snapped to her and narrowed. “They could not have known—”

“That Mundus’ two big wigs would drop by _together_?” she cut off. “Here I thought they were essential to humanity’s defense because they could sense rifts before they opened, or get a basic estimation of the strength of demons running wild and dispatch accordingly?”

“They’re just real bad at it,” Nero said, earning himself a glare from Credo.

“We are all doing our best,” he said, before pointing an accusing finger at Lady. “but _you_ are looking for a bonus.”

She laughed. At him because he really really hated that about her, didn’t he, and at herself, because she _should_ be going after a bonus for all this bullshit, and just this once it hadn’t occurred to her. Something else was going on, and it’d been just bothersome enough to override the rote of paid work.

“I already got an extra meal and a hot warm shower at your place, don’t I?” She smirked at him and stopped his incoming protest with a raised hand. “Spare me and use your brain to think things through. Regular demons would’ve been ample firepower for a tiny town like this. We rarely run into these two fucks, let alone run into them together. Last time that happened was that massive gate with all the demons pouring out, and they left once we’d blown it into pieces.”

With a pensive grunt, Credo tore a piece of rabbit and shoved it in his mouth. His silence was all the space Nero needed to run his mouth. 

“They’re _so_ annoying! What is up with all that power anyway? This fuc—”

“Nero,” Credo scolded before he could swear.

The teenager rolled his eyes. “This asshole almost shattered my summoned shield earlier. Every time, it’s like fighting a wall. I barely held long enough to save these kids.”

And he wouldn’t have survived himself if Lady hadn’t stepped in. She kept that thought to herself—no need to incense the kid. He was just trying his best, and that sort of in extremis rescue was why they didn’t leave each other alone on the battlefield, if they could avoid it.

Credo pulled at his beard using his left hand, still free from any rabbit grease. “When I met the purple knight, he had caught up to twins. They told me they had been pursued by the red one all the way from the forest.”

“This forest?” Lady asked, gesturing at the trees around, towards the most scorched areas. It couldn’t be a coincidence—and indeed, Credo confirmed with a nod. Her stomach twisted, every alarm in her rising. “I found this weirdass clearing that felt portal-y.”

She described the place the best she could—first the surroundings, narrowing down towards that one, strange healthy tree. When Lady mentioned the clean stab into the trunk, Nero choked on his bit of rabbit and spat it out.

“Kinda like some piece of blade was plunked in it?” he asked. “Cause that Purple Bootsies dude, he had a shard in his hand when they joined up. Told his buddy they had what they came for and they zipped right outta here.”

“He stole a bundle from the twins. Broke one’s arm and flung him away, discarding him like trash.” Credo set his plate on the ground and sighed. “This must be what they came after, then.”

“Wait, didn’t they leave with something at that big gate too?” Nero asked.

“I dunno. All I could see was smoke and dust.” She had been at the other end of the great hall, scattering grenades in the crowd of demons below and stringing up rockets at the gate itself.

Nero’s nose scrunched up, and Lady could almost feel the waves of frustration roiling out of him. “I could’ve sworn they did. Picked something from the rubbles of the gate and ran.”

That was it, then. These weren’t random attacks. They were collecting pieces for something, though Lady had no clue what more these fuckers could want with a world they were already ravaging. 

“We should investigate the clearing before we leave,” Credo said, “and report this to the Order. They may know more.”

Lady couldn’t help but wonder how much more they knew, exactly. The Order of the Sword might not like her, but she gave it back tenfold. Sparda had been considered a mere legend across most of the world, but somehow this recluse island had believed in him so thoroughly they had elevated him to the rank of Saviour of Humanity, built an entire knightly organization dedicated to upholding his legacy—one which conveniently asked for tithe and imposed a strict hierarchy from which their little Sparda Pope profited—and had developed rituals enabling them to receiving his blessing through angelic forms. It stank.

They’d been ready for this, however, moreso than anyone else. How many more would be dead without the knights rushing to their aid? How devastated were the areas of the world without them? Lady didn’t have to trust them to understand they were needed, and they paid their bills, so she went along with it and kept her own secrets from them. After all, if no one had ever mentioned Sparda’s human wife, or that he’d had sons—if they happened to see Nero’s strange powers as Sparda’s true legacy… who was she to contradict them?

“You’re right, Credo,” she said. “Let’s see what they have to say. Who knows, maybe this will give them a brand new job for me!”

She threw him her best smile, holding back her laugh as the eternal disapproving frown crept back into his expression. He must have been truly exhausted, however, as he chose not to comment on her greed and simply shook his head. 

As was often the case, Nero filled their silence. He explained what the villagers needed to rebuild and how he had helped with a fervor Lady could only pity. He cared, and every new mission, the weight of the impossible task before him pushed more heavily on him, but this kid had yet to learn to put some distance between himself and his dying world. Credo leaned forward, and she read the same concern for Nero in the twist of his lips, even though he, too, could never quite let all these deaths wash over him.

Idiots, both of them, but they made Lady sleep easier at night, knowing some rare good men still survived this shit world.

###

Lady’s clearing was even more eerie than Nero expected. Even without her guidance, he could have found the place, its energy spreading like a strange throb through the forest. It latched onto him, an itch at his shoulder blades where his wings sprouted, as if calling to Sparda’s blessing. Nero huffed and rolled his shoulders, resisting the urge to reach back and scratching himself and adjusting Red Queen so she’d be well in the way. The itch only intensified as they got closer, spreading to his arm like a thousand pinpricks. He pulled at his sleeves, an irrational part of him terrified his arms would grow the thick dark scales and pale grey glow the Yamato granted them. Demon bullshit sure called to demon bullshit.

Then they got to the actual tree, standing untouched in a sea of charred remains, the only sign of damage on it that clear stab in the trunk, and the Yamato straight up pulsed at his hip. Nero ground his teeth and stopped at the edge of the clearing while Credo and Lady kept going. His head pounded, and the sound of metal rasping against metal echoed between his ears, growing louder with every second, its incoherent awfulness resolving into a long, screeched name. **Sparda.**

“I ain’t Sparda,” he mumbled.

Lady looked over her shoulder with a frown. “Said anything, kid? You all right?”

Shit, was his unease that plainly written in his face? Nero scowled. “M’fine. This place is full of shit.”

“Demonic energy,” Credo corrected, less as a specification and more to scold him for his language. Nero rolled his eyes, and his brother returned his attention to the tree. “It _is_ disconcerting.”

At least he felt it too. Nero forced himself to take a step forward—and the screeching in his head intensified. Power called to him, swirling along the demonic katana’s hilt. Nero’s hand glided closer, inch by inch, until he forced it away. What the fuck?

**Sparda.**

Again that voice in his head. His vision swam for an instant, and he blinked it away. He didn’t want to stay here any second longer, to endure the grinding between his ears and fight the rising urge to unsheathe the Yamato. That thing wanted whatever demonic power seeped this place, and Nero sure as hell wasn’t gonna give it to it. He focused his gaze on the tree, and the deep cut within.

“Looks about the right size for that shard these two f—assholes had.” He tried to sound casual, but a four-year-old could have seen through it.

Credo’s brow knitted, and his concerned gaze settled upon Nero, who tilted his chin up in pointless defiance. To him and Kyrie, Nero was glass, easy to see through, but they both tended to let him get away with his dignity. Credo settled a hand on the pommel of his sword. “We should leave. I can sense the angelic blessings within me roil, and I doubt we will discover much. Let us warn the townspeople, then report to the Order, so that they may place scouts to watch this place and consider the implications of greater devils scouring the earth for these metallic shards.”

Lady huffed, and she ran a thumb under the Kalina Ann’s strap. “Can’t say I like leaving it alone, but all right. Let’s haul our asses to Fortuna and get paid. They can deal with this problem.”

“Yeah, ok!”

Nero whirled around, eager to get the fuck out of there. The grinding in his head took an urgent turn, its cacophonic screeching sliding into the ear-piercing repetition of Sparda’s name, each uttering growing more and more distant as he strode away from the clearing, until silence finally returned. A low buzz still crackled in his ears, but he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, forcing his hammering heart to calm down. Credo set a hand on his shoulder, and his silent presence grounded Nero. That had been some high level bullshit, and whatever power the Yamato had craved so badly, it wasn’t any better for it to be in Mundus’s hands. Something big was coming, and he couldn’t even properly save a village from demons. Nero’s chest tightened, fear securing its hold on him.

“I wanna go home,” he told Credo.

He wanted to see Kyrie’s smile again, to get scolded by her for their wrecked uniforms, to hear her singing quietly in the courtyard at night, and team up with her to win against Credo’s uncanny board game luck. To be home and safe while he could. Mundus’s hordes had torn the world apart, leaving death and desolation behind, and yet he had so much left to lose.


	3. The Order of the Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Credo, Nero, and Lady report to the Order of the Sword before heading home for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're arriving in Fortuna!! A lot of this particular fic is worldbuilding what's different from canon, and I had a lot of fun digging my heels into Fortuna and the Order. Which will become fairly obvious over this chapter and the next.
> 
> Today's featured artist is Trident Silver!! You can peek at their gorgeous art of the meeting in Sanctus' office! 

Sanctus had received them upon arrival.

It had taken Credo’s team an entire week to make it back to Fortuna. In theory, Agnus had rigged their Order’s truck with an angelic aura that would help pass through demons undetected, but doing so would mean allowing them to roam human lands freely, and Credo could not abide by that idea. While it was of the utmost importance that the Order receive their report, he did not think a day or two would change the fate of the world, and rushing to cut off their travel time would almost certainly add to the ever-rising death count of this invasion. Lady called their delays futile, but he’d long since concluded her moral compass was led askew by the magnetic presence of gold—and indeed, after a few short stops, she began talking of a bonus for all the extra work. No matter: the Order could easily afford it, and she ripped through demons with undeniable efficiency.

More importantly, so did Nero.

It hadn’t escaped Credo how sullen the brash teenager had grown, and he knew how badly Nero dealt with any sort of failure. He hated to lose even benign games, his competitive flame burning hard and strong, and that need for victory only multiplied when the games became battles, and the stakes turned into human lives. Those two generals could have destroyed all three of them out, and they all knew it; fighting minor demons and wiping the floor with them helped Nero regain some of his usual confidence. As much as Credo longed to detail their findings to Sanctus, he knew better than to discard the importance of Nero’s spirit. He might never be able to share the great weight placed on his younger brother’s shoulders, but he would always do his best to ease that burden.

Still. He was rather glad Sanctus accepted to meet them upon request. Credo and Nero strode into His Holiness’ office, their uniforms still bloodied and torn from the battlefields, while Lady left them to arrange for her pay. His Holiness must have been in a meeting with Agnus, as the Order’s Chief Scientist remained in the office, a pile of notes clutched to his chest while he watched their entrance. He smiled and nodded at Nero, ignoring Credo entirely—an attitude Credo was more than happy to return. As essential as Agnus and his team had been to Nero’s health as his brother grew up, they had never gotten along and had long since decided the best for everyone was to pretend the other did not exist whenever possible.

As was usual, Credo described their mission in concise and precise details, sifting through the myriad of small happenings and details to focus on the bigger picture. Nero jumped in every now and then, unable to dampen his feelings and avoid outbursts. The two older men were used to it: whenever they reported together, the teenager would grow frustrated with the brisk, emotionless efficiency of Credo’s reports. He’d once smashed one of Sanctus’s plush chairs in anger, shaken by one of their first real defeats in the field—but he’d been twelve at the time, and they had never ran into Mundus’ knights before that moment, so it had been easily forgiven. Still, no amount of scolding Nero after the fact ever got him to stay quieter and more professional, and in truth Credo didn’t mind his added input. Sanctus and Agnus needed to understand the toll these missions took on him, or they would send him out again without the slightest pause. Credo could take that kind of grinder—after raising two children through grief and war, not much made him so exhausted he could no longer function. Nero, however… Nero was a flame burning bright, and he needed breathing space to keep shining.

By the time Credo finished speaking of the strange clearing, Agnus was almost vibrating with impatience. His fingers played with the corners of his notes, and his broad body swayed like a tree in a strong wind. Only Sanctus’ raised hand prevented him from blurting his endless questions.

“Yours is a troubling tale,” he said, linking his hands over his desk. “Until now, there had been no rhyme or reason to the devils’ movements. It is most unfortunate that they have been allowed to leave with their quarry.”

Nero bristled at that last, and Credo touched his forearm before some ill-advised retort crossed his lips. The pause it occasioned turned out just long enough for Agnus to jump in.

“So you’ve seen it. This shard.” His right hand left the clipboard as he spoke, gesturing midair as if seizing for an invisible object, and he stumbled over his words. Agitation always brought his stutter to the forefront, but Credo would be hard-pressed to tell if excitement or fear swelled the most within the scientist. “Please, more. How big was it? What colour? Did it… did it have a demonic aura?”

“I saw it.” Nero crossed his arms and raised his chin, looking directly at Sanctus as he added. “Was rushing after them to stop them when they used a portal back to the demon world.”

Credo pressed his lips together, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Nero couldn’t let any implication he hadn’t done his best slide by. Not that the kid was wrong, but pride had no place in an audience with His Holiness, Sparda’s Chosen or not.

“Was a bit bigger than my hand, Ag, and—”

“Nero!” Credo snapped. “This is not the place for nicknames.”

Bright red coloured Nero’s cheeks and he huffed. “Bigger than my hand, _Mister Chief Scientist_ , and the whole place stank of these two knights’ aura, so who knows? Could’ve been a whole beacon of demon stuff. The tree it ‘d been stuck in definitely reeked, though. It made the Yamato pissy.”

It had? Nero had seemed nauseous, and Credo’s own angelic powers had thrummed within him, leaving him woozy and breathless, but he’d completely missed any clues of the Yamato acting up. Credo stared at his little brother, who pointedly ignored him—a retaliation for the scolding, no doubt.

“The Yamato, really?” Agnus stumbled three times on the katana’s name, and now Credo knew it was excitement and not fear, increasing his stutter. He loved that evil sword more than was healthy. In a manner of seconds, he had crossed the room and placed a hand on Nero’s shoulder, on the other side from Credo. “Nero, my boy, you must tell me more. That is very strange. Perhaps in my office? With His Holiness’s permission, of course.”

The last had been added hastily, and Credo needed every ounce of discipline in his body to resist scoffing at him. It would be unbecoming of him, a Captain of the Order, to deride their Chief Scientist. Even if the man displayed a complete lack of respect for His Holiness’ authority.

“Of course,” Sanctus said, and although his tone remained as smooth as ever, Credo did not think him fooled. “You may go, Agnus. I will be awaiting a full report on what information you may gather, and how it fares in relation to our wealth of knowledge.”

His permission granted, Agnus waited no time in shepherding Nero out of the room, ignoring the young man’s half-hearted protest. Credo bit his tongue once more; Nero knew to be home in time for dinner and was likely looking forward to it as much as Credo was. He might still be a teenager, but some things no longer needed reminders for. Food, especially.

As the door closed behind them, Sanctus leaned forward, and his calm stateliness contrasted with Agnus’ constant fidgeting. “We will do our utmost to understand what nefarious plan drives this quest for shards. Do not worry overmuch, however. As long as we have Sparda’s Chosen, I know that we will prevail.”

It was a dismissal, but a spark lit in Credo’s belly at the words. Although Sanctus spoke of taking this threat seriously, his tone betrayed unmistakable dismissiveness. He must be projecting calm for his sake, and yet when Credo thought of the lives they might have saved if they’d known enough to evacuate the villagers, of the way these weighed on Nero, he could not accept this particular façade. His body tensed, the soldier rigidity a cover for his frustration.

“Your Holiness—if I may?”

A simple nod, and three gnarled fingers gesturing for him to go on. Credo searched for any sign of Sanctus’ mood, but the deep eyes and firm mouth betrayed nothing.

“How many will die before Nero saves us?” he asked. “He is growing fast, but he is only one man—one boy, even. These knight generals we faced are well beyond him, and he knows this as surely as I do. H-how…”

His words trailed off as he caught the hint of disappointment twisting Sanctus’s lips. “Your faith is wavering, I see.”

Fear shot through Credo, and his entire body went straight as a rod. “N-no—”

A raised hand stalled his protest.

“I say this not as a reproach, but as a statement of fact.” Sanctus rose from his feet, his movements still fluid and purposeful despite his age. Credo could not remember a time when he had not seemed old and strong—in a way, Sanctus embodied the way he thought of Fortuna, too. The vicar strode around the desk to set a calming hand on Credo’s shoulder. “Years ago, I entrusted you with Sparda’s Chosen’s moral and martial education. That is no small burden, when so much depends on our young hero. But you are one of our brightest stars, Credo, and I had every confidence you could guide your charge.”

The knots of tension along Credo’s back loosened to some extent, and although he remained straight, he tilted his head towards the older man. “I have done my utmost, Your Holiness, as imperfect as it is.”

“My son, you are too hard on yourself.” Sanctus squeezed his forearm. “The Saviour watches over you, too. He has proven so through your Ascension. This is why I know your faith has wavered: when you doubt that Nero will find his way into power, you doubt your own steadfast education, you doubt my trust in you, and most important of all, you doubt Sparda’s ever-loving watch upon us all.”

The words weighed heavy on his heart, but Credo could find no fault in them. He had not meant to cast such doubts over others, only to discuss the hard reality of the field. Was his evaluation of their current strength and position wrong, then? But no, faith had never equaled carelessness. Faith was his shield, embodied into the Aegis, but it was not an invincible wall. Credo struggled to fit that certainty with Sanctus’s gentle reprimand. Perhaps that, more than anything, was proof of his flagging faith. He would need to reflect upon it.

“I thank you for your wisdom, Your Holiness,” he said, bending his head in deference.

Sanctus smiled back at him and stepped back. “Please. You may always come to me for guidance, my son, and not only in matters of faith.”

Credo nodded once more. It was not the first time since his parents’ death that Sanctus had extended such an offer, and Credo was grateful for the open door. He had used it on rare occasions, but in truth he had never managed to frame Sanctus as the fatherly figure the man so clearly wished to be. He would always be his leader, even if his kindness did not go unnoticed.

“If I may, sir… I have not been home yet.” He turned part way towards the exit, awaiting his permission to leave.

“Of course, of course!” Sanctus linked his hands together. “Pass my salutations to young Kyrie for me, and let her know I look forward to hearing her beautiful voice once more. And Credo… Do not trouble yourself with this shard business. Focus on young Nero. He needs you.”

That, he did. More than anything, however, they needed rest. Credo acquiesced to Sanctus’s words and excused himself with as much grace as his tired mind could muster, and although he had just promised to let the strange shards be, his mind drifted right back to the purple knight snapping Piers’s arm to acquire his prize. Did they have all they needed now? Were more of these shards scattered across the world? Could the Order locate them before many more died? These were all questions far beyond him—he was, in many ways, but a footman, loyal and efficient—yet they dogged Credo as he wound his way through the Order’s headquarters and to the great bridge where he had agreed to meet with Lady.

###

Agnus had too many questions. Nero didn’t like it when he got this intense, badgering him with inquiries, but he did his best to answer them as he could. Agnus was just like that. When he got excited about knowing something, you couldn’t hold him back. So he asked about the shard and the Yamato’s reaction to the clearing and Nero answered, and Agnus scribbled notes in a brand new pad, eyes shining. Sometimes he got up to pace, muttering to himself about demonic sentience and the osmotic properties of power, and Nero let the mumbo jumbo pass over him and tried to picture Kyrie’s smile. That just made him more impatient, though, and the next time Agnus paused, he jumped on the opportunity.

“S’that all, Ag?” he asked, crossing his arms.

He was sitting on the big table in the middle of the scientist’s office, his butt having found the only spot clear of various instruments and half-broken pieces of shields and weapons. Agnus’ office always felt crowded despite its actual size, the shelves full of thick tomes with ridiculously long titles, their letters half obscured by trinkets and instruments Nero had never seen elsewhere. He’d probably built most of them.

That was the only thing he and Agnus really had in common: they liked to tinker and create stuff to their specifications. Of all the people in Fortuna who’d congratulated him on Red Queen, Agnus was the only one who’d seemed to really get the thrill of her. And just like Red Queen, a lot of Agnus’s inventions served to kill demons. Two things in common, then.

“A-All?” Agnus didn’t bother to hide his surprise, and Nero could feel the press of a hundred other pointed questions against his lips. “I suppose. You wish to leave, do you not?”

“Hell yeah. I want to sleep on pillows after a hot shower.”

“Ah, yes. The simple comforts.” He said it like they were superfluous, and Nero huffed. Before he could tell Agnus off, however, the man slammed his pencil down and jumped to his feet. “However, I cannot let you go just yet. This business with the Yamato—it is all very strange, you see. If you could, perhaps, submit to a routine check-up?”

He asked, but Nero had been through dozens of those over the years, and he’d never felt like he could really say no. Still worth a try. He groaned. “ _Aag_ , please? I just wanna go.”

But the scientist had already picked up his little kit, and soon he had his little machine around Nero’s arm to get his vitals, and while Nero stared at the shifting numbers with growing exasperation, Agnus stung the base of his neck with something sharp—bone marrow collector or whatever. It didn’t last long, the check-up, not like it used to when Nero had been a kid with vivid night terrors that made his wings unfurl and his arms line with strange scales. Nero didn’t even remember a time before he’d go to Ag’s in the middle of the night—first with Credo’s parents, then with Credo himself—for something to calm him. They’d said he was too young to handle Sparda’s Blessing, that his mind was protecting itself, and maybe they’d been right. It’d been a long time since he’d lost control like that.

Agnus removed the little machine and stored everything back in his kit, his smile widening at the click of it closing back up. He always loved that sound. So did Nero: it meant freedom.

“Good to go?” he asked.

“Indeed you are. Run, child.”

Nero hopped off the table, deciding against any protest to this ‘child’ nonsense. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He’d been out there and fighting far too long for that. Arguing meant staying, however, and he was far too happy to ditch this crummy office and sprint back home to waste a single extra second with Agnus.

###

Poor Credo had no idea the weight his name carried around the Order, or how often Lady threw it around when she needed the paper pushers to trust her. The clerk, bless his little rule-following heart, had insisted not to pay one coin above contract, arguing that he had no authority to approve these bonus payments she spoke of… right until she explained they’d been offered to her by Credo Benedetto, Captain of the Order of the Sword, an Ascended Warrior of the Holy Knights, and the Guardian of Sparda’s Chosen. That changed their tune—it always did—and now her account had swelled even higher than expected. Not that she didn’t deserve every dollar in there, but as far as Lady was concerned, she rarely got paid what she truly deserved.

Her gaze latched onto Credo as she strode out of the headquarters. He stood by the railing, hands clasped behind his back, his entire body language rigid. The perfect little soldier to most onlookers, but to her he felt… relaxed. All in the eyes, she realized. They had unfocused, losing themselves in the quiet rhythm of the waves instead of restlessly scanning their surroundings for a potential threat or subtly assessing Nero’s well-being.

“Anything good out there?” she asked. He startled and his hands gripped the railing in a rare display of emotion for someone so stoic. Lady frowned. “Did your report go so bad? Where’s Nero?”

“Providing more intel to our Chief Scientist. He will come along once he is done and knows not to miss dinner.”

“That, he sure does.” A quick laugh escaped her, and it sparked a fond smile on Credo’s lips. Nero ate as much as the two of them combined, if not more, and if they dared to delay a meal by an hour, he complained ceaselessly—when rations were available, anyway. They always set out of Fortuna with some of them, but the devastated countryside could turn fresh food into a challenge, and sometimes a string of demon attacks kept them in the field for months. When they had to survive on whatever Lady could scrounge up and the rare extras offered by rescued folks, Nero’s only complaints emerged from his stomach. They’d been running short towards the end of this mission, and there was no way in hell Nero would skip a meal for a report.

“Is your business concluded, then?” Credo asked, tone measured and careful, as though he didn’t want her to perceive how much he disliked said business.

Lady grinned at him and patted the top of the Kalina Ann over her head. “Absolutely! Wrung out every penny I could from you guys, and I’m ready for the second half of the payment.”

He flashed a glare at her, turning fully away from the sea. “Your greed—”

“Spare me your sermon.” She walked past him, short strides carrying her towards the sea. “I’m not interested, and I’m sure your breath has better uses. We’re on your hometurf now. Surely you can’t be so boring that even here, self-righteous rants are all you got for me.”

“Perhaps,” Credo started, and in a single stride he’d caught up to her—and she hated that, how much taller than her he was— “Perhaps if you were less blasphemous and self-serving, I would find my words walking down other paths.”

“You think?” She hurried ahead with a few quick steps before spinning around, a playful smile on her lips. “In that case, _Captain_ , how about I don’t talk about money for a day, and you don’t give me any of that bullshit, and maybe your little dinner invitation will not transform into torturous hours for both of us?”

Credo kept pace with her, allowing her the short lead so she could walk backwards. He pulled at his perfectly trimmed beard. “You must have been desperate for that meal and shower, to accept an offer you so readily call torturous.”

“Battle fatigue,” she countered, as if she hadn’t daydreamed of fresh cheese and vegetables and a long hot shower for days now.

Credo raised a single eyebrow, and… was that smugness curving his lips? He closed the distance between them in one simple stride, catching her so unaware she didn’t react as he spun to be backwards, too, and slipped his arm in hers. She froze mid-step, but when she started to pull out, he tightened the hold.

“Milady,” he said, tone mild and horribly respectful, “I have no wish to impose. Say the word, and I will free you from your obligations. If, however, you wish to attend dinner in my humble house, I would be honoured to accept your proposal, and focus my words on matters agreeable to us both. Perhaps…” He spun her around so they would face Fortuna proper and gestured at the old town spread below them. The smugness melted from his smile, leaving only genuine joy. “A private tour of the locale?”

What the ever-loving fuck was wrong with him? Lady’s mouth worked as she scrambled for an answer to all the fancy words. She hadn’t been ready for Credo to go all old-school gallantry on her and, shit, he’d called her _milady_? She burst out laughing, the irony too much for her. From greedy bitch to lady of the nobility, huh? Lady wished she could stop the blush rising to her cheeks as if she didn’t know damn well he was just putting up a front. Whatever, really. He’d taken her peace offering, so maybe she could take his.

“No imposition or whatever,” she said. “You got an hour to impress me, Mister Knight. Show me what Fortuna’s got that makes you love it so.”

“Gladly.”

And he had quite a few spots to do so. To her surprise, they started by getting a drink from a small counter-bar that served iced drinks with a spike of alcohol to street walkers, and whose barman clearly knew Credo. From there he led her into a tiny park holed up at the bottom of a cliff, squeezed between two larger buildings and dominated by an enormous olive tree—the spot his parents had met in, he explained, and once frequently returned to—then they veered off and towards the harbor. He had countless anecdotes about the places, and not boring historical bullshit either. His stories were of teenagers painting a neighbour’s fence with clouds because he was so distracted all the time, of the tiny staircase built to allow cats access to a third-story flat where someone lived with ten of them, of the quiet girl who held the flower shop yet never brought any to her mother’s tomb.

Credo knew Fortuna—not the location, but the people. They greeted him, which he returned with impeccable politeness, and she was glad that somewhere along the line, in his candid enthusiasm, he had dropped her arm. She was gathering her fair share of stunned looks—many, as usual, for her lack of what Fortuna considered proper attire—but a few new ones, knowing and sly, as if they saw something unspoken between their beloved captain and his lady friend.

She rolled her eyes at that and ignored them the same way she did all other stares. In the years since the Order had made them partners, Lady had never spent more than an hour with Credo outside of work. And he wasn’t truly her partner. They did not share money or business opportunities. They just killed demons together. Partner had a meaning to her she had no intention of revisiting, especially this time of the year. This was just one evening of extra pay she’d wrung out of the Order, and if Credo turned out to be good company instead of a stick in the mud? All the better for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady and Credo were the gift that keeps on giving in this fic, I swear. And I hope you all like my Agnus and Sanctus :P


	4. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyrie learns her family is returning home, and meets Lady for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to featured artist is in the notes below, cause I wanna comment without risking spoilers!

Kyrie browsed bell peppers at a stall in Fortuna’s old market when she caught wind of her family’s return. News of knights stepping out of the ferry safe and sound always spread like wildfire across the island, but never quite as fast as when it was Sparda’s Chosen setting foot on the island once more, victorious from another mission. They always called him victorious, but Kyrie had long since learned the tales heard at the market and the ones Credo and Nero told at home differed greatly. She inquired about their health to the news-bearing youth anyway, only to be told that they did not seem wounded or exhausted, but fierce and proud as they made their way towards the headquarters. Kyrie thanked him, then hurried through the rest of her errands (including an extra bag of potatoes) aiming to be home before them. Three other residents stopped her through these, asking if she’d heard the news, and each made her a little more eager to greet the boys home.

They’d spent almost a month in the field, leaving the house empty and boring, and her heart sang as she projected herself into the now-near future of the inevitable chaos of Nero and Credo crashing home. Certainly, Kyrie found plenty of lively discussion in the company of Old Fortuna’s Ladies of the Craft Circle, and the neighbourhoods’ elderly residents dotted on her like she was their daughter, but she inevitably missed Nero’s boisterous tales and Credo’s quiet, busy energy. She wanted to wake in the middle of the night to the sound of her older brother mixing crepes batter, or settle in her chair as Nero shoved strawberry pie in his mouth and exclaimed—mouth always full—about how perfect and amazing and “Sparda’s true blessing” it was.

Hopefully they would stay long enough for it this time. Demons attacks had been so incessant over the last two years, it’d felt like they barely spent any time at home. They dropped by, a whirlwind of love and laughter, then vanished as quickly as they had come. And every time she saw Nero again, he felt older, more serious and tired, and she found herself cherishing his lopsided smile even more.

Kyrie hoped he would smile a lot tonight, and look at her with those shining eyes, and maybe sneak out on the roof with her again, to wrap a strong arm around her shoulders and stare at the stars and tell her just how relaxed he felt with her. It had been more than a month, and the firmness of his body against hers had not left her. She often found herself wondering what it would be like, to fall asleep with it enclosing her.

A slight blush crept up Kyrie’s neck and cheeks, and she chased the silly thought away. Nero had other things to think about, and she didn’t want to be like those young wives pining after their men, wasting away at home. Maybe that was why she’d kept herself so busy, baking and sewing and knitting for the endless waves of refugees which came to the island and settled ever-bigger chunks of the Mithis Forest, throwing up tents or crafting shelters out of the trees. If she made herself useful, she wasn’t pining, she was daydreaming. And there was nothing wrong with daydreaming, or so the craft circle’s ladies said! Didn’t hurt a fly to let the imagination run.

She would, of course, allow a lot more than her imagination to run if she could, but she didn’t think it was fair to ask that of Nero when his mind was full of devils to kill and people to rescue. Her lips could wait, and—Saviour, she really needed to get a hold of herself. The day was far too hot for this.

Kyrie slipped into the blessed shade of her house and set to work, busying her mind with homemade pesto, hand-crafted pastas to dry, and some beautiful pies. She was checking the laundry, double-checking beds and towels to make sure the house was ready for them, when the familiar creak of the door sent her heart spinning.

“Kyrie?” Credo called from below. “We’re home.”

Their house was a minuscule two-storied affair, with four small rooms below and two bedrooms above, linked by the narrow staircases so common in Fortuna. She scrambled down those, one hand holding up her long cream-coloured skirts to avoid tripping, and sprinted to the front door, right by the kitchens. Credo stood in the doorway, his captain uniform an absolute mess of tears, bloodstains, and Saviour-knew-what, the whole ensemble so utterly ruined she had no idea how they’d salvage it this time.

“Credo, how—”

Her scolding stopped as he stepped aside to allow his companion in, all reproach fizzling out of her mind. Lady—and Kyrie had heard enough tales to recognize that rocket launcher—was small and muscular, and everything Fortuna’s women were typically not allowed to be (though the necessities of war and the recent influx of refugees with far more liberal standards had certainly brought drastic changes). Saviour, her shorts might as well not exist at this length, and that shirt had one big revealing dive for her breasts, in addition to its fabric suddenly vanishing around her midriff. Did she fight in this? That was…

Kyrie’s mouth dried, a shiver running through her body, heart pumping, and for a brief, confusing moment, she had no idea if she wanted to touch or be. Maybe with that sweet spot of thigh available, Nero would set his hand there, his long fingers running up, or—

Dear lord. There she went again. Calm thoughts. The ocean cooling her down.

“Good evening!” she chirped, her voice nowhere near as smooth as she’d have wanted. “I didn’t think we’d have guests!”

She slammed her palm on the counter, holding her strangely wobbly legs. Credo offered a contrite smile. “I apologize for the lack of warning. I hope it is no bother? I had promised Lady a fresh meal and a hot shower.”

“N-no, no, not at all!” Kyrie could not make herself sound convincing, and it earned her a sharp glance from Lady. But surely she could not be blamed for her surprise? Still, it would not do for her to become a poor host out of… out of whatever this was, so she forced her smile wider. “And ladies always go first, so you’ll have plenty of time to strip out of that horrendous uniform, brother, and prepare your excuses for its state. I hope Nero’s not as bad.”

Guilt flashed across Credo’s face; Nero’s clothes wouldn’t be any better. Kyrie huffed and stomped forward, glaring at him every step of the way and grounding herself with the familiar interaction.

“Unbelievable. Neither of you is leaving this house until they are spanking clean again, and not by my hand!” She stopped by Lady and noted with some moderate satisfaction that she was, at least, already taller. “Let’s get you to the shower and away from my tiresome brother. Will you stay the night? With the increase of demons after sundown, the ferries stop rather early, I’m afraid.”

Lady had started after her, but her pace slowed down as she considered. “Didn’t think of that, but I’d love the bed if you got space.”

They did not, technically. Credo had taken the master bedroom half a year after their parents’ death, allowing Kyrie and Nero their respective rooms. But surely if Nero and her once more needed to bunk together…

“I will gladly lend you mine. It’s clean—I always change all the sheets home when the boys return.”

Kyrie climbed the first of the stairs, proud of how casual she’d sounded. She had this. Even Credo couldn’t protest this basic politeness.

“Sure,” Lady said, and Kyrie startled. Was she not even going to try to politely decline? She just accepted a bed like that, not even inquiring about whether or not Kyrie had her own bed? How rude—how daring. The ladies of the circle certainly would have a lot to say about this brash woman, and—

Oh dear.

Kyrie stopped at the bathroom’s door, her hand on the handle. Credo had walked her through the neighbourhood. Everyone knew Credo, and Credo knew everyone. They would have exchanged greetings, no doubt, and people would have noticed Lady. How could anyone not stare, even briefly, at the sharp mismatched eyes, the rows of ammunition around muscled legs, or the enormous rocket launcher she so effortlessly carried around? Dread filled her as the full consequences of Lady’s coming—and now sleeping over—sank into her mind. Credo was about to become the talk of the town, and no one would approve of their cherished captain shacking up with a scantily-clad mercenary.

“Something wrong?” Lady asked.

A startled, almost hysterical laugh escaped Kyrie. “N-no, nothing, of course not!” She snatched her hand back from the handle, scrambling to get herself under control. “But you might want to drop off all your weapons first, no?”

Oh, that was smooth, very smooth. She smiled at Lady, who acquiesced with a nod, and led her first into her room, thanking her stars that she had cleaned up the worst of it earlier while changing everyone’s sheets. Still, she could not help the self-conscious blush as Lady stepped in and swept it with her gaze, taking in the music sheets spread across her small desk, the numerous paintings of flowers on the walls, and the way nearly every surface had either green plants or her own hand-crafted paper flowers. It was all so girly, and she’d never cared before—she loved what she loved—but Lady had all these guns and killed demons for a living and—

“How peaceful,” she said, slipping her big rocket launcher off her shoulders. No mockery lined her voice, only a quiet nostalgia Kyrie hadn’t expected. She eyed the mercenary as she set her gigantic weapon against the wall and let her fingers trail one of the paintings, dirty nails a stark contrast over the delicate blue rose in it. “I used to have a room like this. Birds instead of flowers, though.”

Kyrie did not ask what had happened to it. The last nine years had destroyed so many lives, it was all too easy to imagine. Instead, she searched in one of her wardrobe for the woven box of worn shoes she owned, upending it then placing it by the door.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “This is for your guns. I’ll get a towel ready for you. We don’t have a lot of hot water, but take all you need and leave the tank empty if you want. I had mine already and the boys never leave me any when I don’t, so this is all they deserve. I’ll be downstairs badgering Credo about his ruined outfit.”

Lady laughed and casually started working on the numerous ammunition pouches strapped all over her. “Thank you, Kyrie. Happy to finally meet you.”

She was? Credo and Nero had talked about her? Kyrie couldn’t help her grin, nor the heat in her cheeks. They had so many more interesting things to discuss, but maybe they both got homesick, the way she missed them when they were gone too long.

“Me too! And thank you—I know you do a lot to keep my family safe.”

For a moment, Kyrie thought Lady’s cheeks had gone pink, too, but that must have been the afternoon out in the sun. It was gone so fast. “Just doing my job.”

“Well. I appreciate your job,” Kyrie reiterated firmly. “See you later.”

She did not give Lady time to dissemble again, and besides, she figured the woman might want some space after a month stuck in Credo’s and Nero’s proximity. The rare times they could stay for long periods at the headquarters, she always enjoyed the quiet intimacy on her first few days alone once more. Kyrie closed the door behind herself, and hurried downstairs. She needed to have a word with her brother.

###

Kyrie allowed her unsuspecting brother a moment of grace. The shower had not started and sounds easily carried within this house; she did not want to be an impolite host to Lady because Credo was an oblivious goof who had just single-handedly destroyed the next month (if not months plural) of gossip at the Old Fortuna’s Ladies of the Craft Circle. So she got him loose shirt and pants, the dozen stain removers they had, and the sewing kit, then badgered him until he stripped off the dirty uniform and started fixing his mess. In the meantime, she set to cutting the vegetables for her roast, humming softly.

A handful of minutes passed, and the ever-present tightness in Credo’s back relaxed, as if the song and scents of home washed the weight off his shoulders. By the time Kyrie heard water running upstairs, she almost felt guilty for whirling on him.

Almost.

“Did you walk through the whole city with her?” She pointed at the ceiling with her knife, her voice an urgent whisper.

Credo’s eyebrows shot up, and he lowered his outfit. “Of course. Lady expressed the wish to see the Fortuna I loved, so I escorted her through a few of its most interesting spots this afternoon.”

Escorted her. The whole afternoon. Kyrie ran a hand over her face with a groan, slumping over the counter. “Credoooo!”

Confusion spread over his face. “What did I do this time?”

Hopeless. He was completely hopeless. She set the knife done and crossed her arms. “Please tell me you didn’t come across anyone we know. Please.”

“Kyrie, that would be everyone in the city!”

“Exactly! And now they will think you’re courting her!” His mouth made a pretty ‘o’ shape and he sputtered, but she gave him no time. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? My whole social life is ruined.”

He stared at her, blinking repeatedly. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic? She is only a colleague, and I invited her because she accused us of hoarding fresh vegetables.”

Dramatic? Her? Of course he would think that. He would not have to deal with the inevitable gossip for months, or to choose between defending Lady’s honour and receive hours of warning and advice against “outside influences” or staying quiet and imply they were right about the mercenary. Either way, she was in for weeks of arguing that nothing was happening, because few would believe that at all. And Credo would be off on another mission, saving the world on the Order’s behalf while his romantic life was studied in detail by the neighbourhood’s old ladies who had all but forcefully adopted them when their parents had been killed.

“I am not,” she stated, putting every ounce of confidence she could muster behind it. “This is a disaster. I will hear of nothing else for months, and by the time you return from your next mission, all the speculation will no doubt have driven me into the sea.”

This time, Credo didn’t roll his eyes, he burst out laughing then returned to his uniform. “If it is what you need to cool down, Kyrie, be my guest. Please do inform all the good ladies of the Craft Circle that my poor soul is safe from Lady’s womanly wiles. She is not my type.”

Not that she had ever heard Credo express a type of any sort, but that was really besides the point. Kyrie picked her knife back up—she should get going with those vegetables—and pointed it at him, huffing so loud that her bangs blew up. “So you’re not flirting with her?”

“I assure you, I am not!” he exclaimed, a thread of amusement in his voice.

Kyrie was still totally angry at him for being so oblivious and hopeless. Even if he hadn’t meant anything by it. Maybe even especially because he hadn’t meant anything by it. Either way, he was going to endure at least a fraction of what her coming weeks would be. “I can’t believe I’m going to go through all that gossip, and you’re not even making the most of it! Maybe it’d be worth it if you were at least banging her.”

Credo’s shocked gasp was all she had ever dreamed of—and then he hissed, having pricked himself with the sewing needle. “Kyrie!”

The shower’s water stopped before either could add anything. Kyrie glanced up, then smirked at her brother, eyebrows way high. “I am only saying, brother, that everyone will already believe it is happening.”

“And I feel no obligations to what everyone expects,” he countered, and they both knew this was the biggest lie in all of Credo’s life. Everyone expected something out of him—protection, proper manners, guidance for Nero, raising his little sister… he’d moved from one expectation to the next, always striving to meet them, always succeeding. Credo lowered his outfit again. “Please, Kyrie. No more of this.”

She wanted to tease him until the end of time, or at least spend the entire evening throwing looks at him, but suddenly it didn’t feel fun to add one more expectation on his shoulders when he so rarely managed to detach himself from them. Kyrie smiled at him, then quickly dipped forward to smack a quick kiss on his forehead.

“I’m glad you’re back home,” she said. “You and Nero better stay a while. I missed you.”

Credo’s hands stopped moving and he closed his eyes, and for an instant he allowed her to glimpse his sheer exhaustion—slack cheeks, heavy shoulders, heavy sigh. It didn’t last. Credo never let that sort of window open long, but it was enough for her. Kyrie squeezed his hand, letting him know he didn’t need to say anything, and returned to her vegetables.

By the time the stairs creaked from Lady’s heavy boots, they were both innocently focused on their respective tasks, as if nothing in the world had passed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's featured artist is Elanor Pam, who did a striking depiction of Kyrie first laying eyes on Lady and getting her big gay crush. [Go see it!](https://twitter.com/elanorpam/status/1318585302156443648?s=20)
> 
> I love flustered teenage bisexual Kyrie a whole damn lot <3


	5. Pay Up or Perish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone enjoys a nice family dinner before turning on each other for a merciless round of board games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BOARD GAMES NIGHT!!
> 
> I love this chapter to pieces for all its glorious family mood. Time to have some relaxation before they go back out to fight demons ~
> 
> This week's featured artist is loloashk with a glorious illustration of their deadly game of Uno!! [Go feast your eyes!!](https://twitter.com/lololashk/status/1321121043927519232)

Nero wished Credo and Lady had waited for him. He’d have refused if Credo had offered—he wasn’t a kid anymore, he could walk home on his own!—but that didn’t change how much he hated walking through Fortuna’s Old City on his own. Everyone and their mother recognized him, and while they would point and whisper and send shy waves his way when he had others with him, Fortuna’s residents grew far more daring when he was alone.

The least annoying of them shouted “Saviour bless you!” at him, as if that wasn’t the very definition of his existence, but some inevitably walked up to him and grabbed his hands and arms to shake or squeeze them, offering profuse and heartfelt thanks. Others asked to see his wings, wonder and hope in their eyes, as if that alone would save them. But the worst would always be the parents dragging sickly child to him, pleading for his help, or the bone-thin refugees crying for what relief from their pain he could offer. He had nothing to give but himself, and he risked that most of the year out there, fighting demons. Nero never knew what to tell them, how to let them down—he hated that he had to do that at all—and as time passed and the world’s misery seeped into Fortuna, those who came begging for his help only grew more numerous. Inevitably, words of his passage spread, and the streets swelled until it became near impossible to extricate himself, no matter how many “please, everyone, I wanna be home and rest” he said.

The bloodied uniform helped, at least. Today’s crowd dive could have been far worse. He still was fucking exhausted when he pushed the door to their small house open, slipping into a kitchen thick with the delicious aroma of a roast and the uplifting mountain of potato peels. His stomach grumbled, anticipation washing away part of his fatigue.

“Potatoes!” 

His mind didn’t have the energy for much more than single words, so he spun around to the girl he knew would have bought extras as soon as she’d caught wind of his arrival. Kyrie stood by the sink, her auburn hair shining almost orange in the setting sunlight, the freckles spread across her cheeks brighter than he remembered. Her smile, too, was brighter. Everything about her shined more, as if she had her own soft golden light hiding inside. He grinned at her, and in a single stride he was by her side, lifting her into a bear hug and spinning her. 

She yelped in surprise and hung to his neck, laughing as her feet flew midair. Her hair had a new hint of orchid scent that it didn’t use to, and under it the ever-familiar smell of the church’s incense, which had clung to her from hours of choir for as long as he remembered. He inhaled deeply, and his entire body relaxed as it finally accepted that he’d made it home. 

“Kyrie,” he whispered, fighting a bone-deep need to keep her close. Her cheeks had flushed red and her eyes shone.

“Potatoes, I know,” she said, and for the longest time she stared only at his face—directly into his eyes, he thought, and his own cheeks grew hot—then her gaze drifted down, and her soft brow knitted into a frown. “But you won’t get a single one of them as long as this—” She gestured at his outfit. “—isn’t taken care of.”

Nero pouted. “Not one? Not even a tiny tiny taste to tide me over?”

“Not one.”

He knew he wouldn’t win this argument, but his outfit was a total mess and did he really have to clean that up tonight? Couldn’t that wait tomorrow? “You’re cruel. I didn’t even get a welcome home. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Kyrie rolled her eyes then put a hand over her heart. “Maybe I’d be nicer if you greeted me before the potatoes, but I shouldn’t hope to compete with your stomach.”

Well. She had him there. Nero tried to think of a good reply, and his gaze flicked to the mound of peels before he could help himself.

“See?” Kyrie asked before slapping his arm. “Get yourself cleaned up, and maybe you can see to your outfit tonight instead. The way Credo and Lady are going, they’ll be providing entertainment for the whole night.”

As if to confirm, Lady’s sharp and victorious exclamation interrupted their conversation. Nero turned towards its source with a frown. What could they be doing? It didn’t sound like their usual bickering at all. 

“She’s got a competitive streak, doesn’t she?” Kyrie asked. “Credo is all too easy to bait. All she had to do was tell him she’d knock the price of her services down for every potato he managed to peel that she didn’t, and suddenly they were racing each other. Now they found the dart board, and I know our little board game cabinet will be opened before the night is out.”

“What happens when she wins?” And she would—Credo was no good at darts, no matter how much he liked to pretend otherwise. “More money for her, I bet.”

Kyrie’s lips quirked into a strange smile, secretive and amused. “Each potato she did extra was another dinner invitation. And while I would never question my brother’s morals or dedication to the faith… he must have been terribly exhausted, to be such a slow peeler tonight.”

A squealed gasp escaped Nero, then he burst out laughing at his own high-pitched sound. Kyrie joined in, and for an instant he forgot all about Credo and Lady to marvel at the beauty of her voice. Only when she stopped did he find his words again.

“You’re a terrible gossip,” he said.

“Words are my weapon, and the battles are fierce around here.” She put her hand on the middle of his back and pushed him towards the stairs. “Now go. Shower’s waiting.”

Part of Nero wanted to stay and chat with Kyrie while it was only the two of them. He always forgot how calming her simple presence was, and now he didn’t want to leave her orbit. He hadn’t had a hot shower in weeks, though, and Kyrie would be waiting for him. Kyrie and potatoes. What else could he ask for?

###

Nero scrubbed his skin raw in the hot shower, going as far as using his sharp-edged wings to scratch his lower back, leaving thin scars that’d heal immediately. Their low stinging pain mixed with the scalding water pounding against his back, and the sensations grounded him home. Fortuna had a way of seeming unreal, no more than a dream he received the rare permission to visit—but if he still stung, if his skin turned red from heat and vigorous rubbing, then he truly was here, and he could relax. Nero stayed under the water as long as he needed to hammer that truth into his bones, found a set of loose cotton clothes a hundred times comfier than his Order outfit, then slipped back downstairs.

Credo and Lady had abandoned the dart board to help set up the table, and before long Kyrie placed a mouth-watering roast in the middle of them, half of it already cut into thin, juicy slices. The plates all had mashed potatoes in them—Nero’s twice the amount as anyone else’s—so Nero let the others get their portions first, all too happy to swipe up his fork and shove some of those divine potatoes in his mouth. The roast came with a selection of oven-baked bell peppers and onions as well as a salad which greens probably all came from Kyrie’s own tiny garden. Lady jumped on those at the first opportunity, and Nero couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen her so unguardedly pleased by any food. She hadn’t been joking about the fresh veggies. 

As usual, Kyrie made most of the dinner conversations. She had a gazillion new paper flower projects, with tissue and paper as well as translucid, coloured plastics another of the craft circle lady had imported. They had also furnished her with everything she needed to start embroidery and one of them was slowly gathering equipment for glasswork. Kyrie’s eyes shone as she spoke, barely stopping to eat, and sometimes Nero forgot his own plate from the sheer pleasure of watching her describe everything she loved in such vibrating passion. She wasn’t like this at church or in most spaces, only with them, and he knew how blessed they were.

Still. At this rate, her plate would be cool long before she reached the end of her stories. He looked from it and towards Credo, exchanging a knowing gaze. Credo waited for an opening and cleared his throat.

“What about you, Lady? Any craft you used to do, before…” He gestured vaguely. Older adults never named the time before the Tearing. Sometimes Nero envied them for their memories of an unbroken world, of which he had so few, but they always grew sadder talking about it, so maybe it wasn’t so bad, not really knowing. 

“Sewing,” Lady replied. “It turned out real handy when I needed custom ammunition pouches.”

Kyrie’s eyes went wide, and then she was off again, a rapid fire of questions about what Lady would sew and how long she’d done it, and were they gifts for anyone? Lady’s answer stayed short to the point of avoidance, yet Nero learned more about her in fifteen minutes than he had in the few years of work together. The sewing had been for dolls at first, then for herself; she’d learned with her mother as a child and had loved to lose herself in fabric stores or thrift shops. They’d have a huge walk-in for everything she bought—a detail that got raised eyebrows from Credo, and a comment about past wealth. Lady scowled at him, stabbed a bell pepper on her fork, and pointed out that _this_ was wealth these days. They would have gone right back to bickering if Kyrie hadn’t grabbed the bowl of vegetables and extended it towards Lady, chirping about how much more there was right where it came from.

Most of Kyrie’s plate was empty too (when she actually stopped talking to eat, she was fast), so she filled the rest of dinner conversation with the latest Fortuna gossip, from the new cat in the neighbourhood to “new” rumours about ghastly sound from the old castle. No one lived there, and apart from a few occasional patrols, the area stayed deserted. Even now, with refugee numbers swelling, it was considered off-limits. Credo had suggested putting it back into habitable shape about a year ago, but Sanctus had never acted upon the idea. He’d said the knights had bigger emergencies to deal with but Nero didn’t see why townsfolk couldn’t do this stuff. Sanctus often did and said stuff Nero didn’t understand, but Credo seemed to, and the old man hadn’t guided them wrong yet. Besides, his job was to stop people from getting killed, not to figure out where to house them after. And tonight, his job was to forget all of that.

The real fun began once dinner and dishes were finished. They started with simple quiet board games, where one threw a pair of piggies and marked up points according to their position—on their backs, or snout, or flanks—but any time the piggies landed on different flanks, the gathered points would be lost. Players had to learn to quit and conserve their current total before that happened, passing the pigs to the next in line. Neither Nero nor Kyrie ever knew when to quit, and Credo’s luck was such you’d think _he_ was Sparda’s Chosen. Never had to make a tough call, and Nero couldn’t remember when he’d last lost one of these games. Lady gave him a run for his money, though, building a slow and steady pile of points, glaring at her piggies every time she threw them as if she could control the way they’d land through sheer willpower. It didn’t work, or at least not enough to snag her a victory.

They upped the rivalry a notch after that, taking out the well-worn deck of Uno—and hell broke loose once Lady taught them that in her family, they had chosen to ignore the booklet’s official rules against stacking, and one could avoid picking up new cards by simply dropping another +4 or +2 card, passing on the curse to the next player. Credo staunchly opposed the idea—rules existed for a reason, he said—but he got outvoted on that one. It was the bloodiest, most hilarious game of Uno Nero had ever played, and he didn’t think any battle had ever matched the thrill of adding a +4 to an already 16-strong pile and watch Credo’s face crumble as he stared at the pair of cards left in his hands and let out a strangled “I have to draw _twenty?_ ”

Kyrie won that round, then lost all subsequent games, sometimes through her own fault. The stacking rule turned her into a vicious player, slapping down Draw cards with glee in her eyes and the occasional cackle—and Lady, sitting across from her, was equally dangerous… which left Nero and Credo to suffer from their constant attacks. After his seventh loss in a row, Nero huffed and set his still-thick hands on the table.

“We should play Tock,” he declared. “Boys against girls.”

He might as well have declared war.

Kyrie’s and Credo’s had snapped up, and almost identical smiles stretched on their lips, highlighting the blood relationship between them. The resemblance struck a bitter chord within Nero but he stomped it down. He’d never looked like anyone—he looked like Sparda, they assured him, and what could be more blessed?—but Nero just wished for something more mundane. He wanted old ladies to smile at him and exclaim about how much like his mother he looked, or to hear he shared his father’s smile. But no one knew who they were. He had been dropped on the church’s doorsteps, and half of Fortuna was convinced he had _no_ parents and was an angel. Nero hated the thought.

“So if Nero blocks your marbles, Credo, I can come in and eat them all?” Lady asked, and the mention of his name dragged Nero out of his thoughts.

He tsked. “Credo and I have each other’s back. We won’t lose to cutthroats like you.”

Nero refocused on the great board in front of him, a large plank with a plus-shaped track of little marble holes carved into it. It created a path of four sections, each with eighteen holes, that wound around the block. At the end of each section, four additional holes lined up towards the center—the paradise—and four other holes were carved closer to the corner—hell. Players had four marbles—souls—that they had to extirpate from hell and guide around the track, into their paradise. A regular deck of cards served as the players hand.

The idea was _simple_ , but between the special powers of some cards allowing to switch any two marbles or move backwards instead of forward and the fact that any time a marble finished their movement directly atop another marble, it sent the soul back to hell… It was never long before the trek around the board turned into a bloody hunt, players eager to set their adversaries back while they advanced. They rarely played in teams—there was no one to be their fourth—and Nero was eager to see how it’d play out. Eager to benefit from Credo’s luck, for once.

They started the game with casual banter, mocking Kyrie for her lack of cards allowing souls out of hell, leaving her stranded there while others began their way around the board. Her already short patience gave out when they played the second hand and Credo had _nothing but_ aces and kings, allowing him to not only get every single marble out of hell, but also to use the last king to move a marble thirteen spaces, essentially wasting its special power, while smirking at his fuming little sister.

“What, Kyrie, did you need that?” Nero added with a snicker.

She huffed and threw the rest of her hand on the central pile to discard it. “I hate you.”

Nero and Credo laughed, but it wasn’t long before Lady made them both pay for their hubris. In but a few turns, she’d switched Nero’s marbles with hers, setting him back by two whole sections, before devouring two of Credo’s marbles back to back. Then they dealt the deck of cards anew, and Kyrie freed herself from her prison, joining the board with undeniable bloodlust.

The game ebbed back and forth as the evening progressed, marble souls reaching paradise bloodied and battered, laughter and curses going hand in hand whenever a marble got sent back to hell. At first the boys—Team Blessed Knights—kept the lead, securing three of Credo’s marbles into his paradise along with one of Nero’s before Kyrie had ever gotten her first in paradise. But then Lady flipped the entire game, using the deadly 7 card—which devoured every marble on its 7-spaces-path—to send three knightly marbles to hell. Kyrie had left a single soul where it had exited hell, a space that made it untouchable and unpassable by any other marbles, and she’d played the other souls while her brothers lined up behind her for the slaughter. Both girls cackled as Lady mowed through them with her 7 and high-fived above the table.

“Team Pay up or Perish!” Kyrie exclaimed.

Credo choked, mouthing ‘pay up or perish’ all over, horror flashing through his eyes. “I need a drink. Lady?”

“Sure,” she said, “but don’t think that’ll save you poor fools from defeat.”

Nero and Kyrie exchanged glances. They weren’t kids anymore! The two of them voiced their displeasure at the same time.

“What about us?”

“Can’t we get any?”

Credo had already reached the small bar. He frowned as he regarded both in turn. “These are adult drinks.”

It earned him a sharp laugh from Lady. “For real? I was out drinking at a younger age than both.”

Credo turned to Lady, his mouth flattening into a thin line. The comment about her moralities went unsaid, but it didn’t need to be spoken. Kyrie scoffed at him.

“You understand, brother, that I could drink from the stash at any point during the missions. Perhaps it’s best if you give me some now, rather than set me up to succumb to the temptation.”

He rolled his eyes, but before he could mount a counter argument, Nero cut in.

“You gotta be kidding me. I’ve been killing demons since I was, what, eleven?”

“Twelve, but that wasn’t my—"

“I can handle a fucking drink, Credo,” he declared, meeting the other’s eyes as he swore.

Credo sighed and finally conceded, pouring them smaller glasses than his and Lady’s. Still a win, and he could push for more later in the evening if he wanted. Credo settled back into his chair, lifted his hand of cards, glanced at his two marbles now in hell, and sighed once more. With a dramatic gesture, he placed his leftover hand in the center as his sister had before, signaling he had nothing to get his souls out of hell and would need to wait for the next hand. Lady cackled and lifted her glass.

“Cheers to that, Kyrie!”

Their glasses clang together, and Lady downed her entire glass in one go, causing Credo to lift his eyebrows. Kyrie went much more slowly, taking a little sip and—she choked in surprise, her eyes wide, and the hint of a smirk returned to Credo’s expression. Nero frowned. Surely it wasn’t _that_ strong, if Lady drank it all. He glanced at the clear brown liquid in his glass with a frown. He would not be cowed by alcohol.

In one fluid movement, he grabbed the glass and tilted it backward, drinking it all in one shot, exactly as Lady had. His throat burned as the liquid sped down, and tears pricked his eyes from the pungent alcohol. Distantly, he heard Credo scold him and Lady laugh. Kyrie only stared in horror as he shook his head, pushing away the initial shock.

“I don’t see the big deal,” he declared, and Lady only laughed harder.

Fifteen minutes later, his head buzzed in a strange, fuzzy feelings, and the tip of his ears and fingers seemed pleasantly warm. When he focused on his cards to make a decision, the rest of the world faded back and conversations bypassed him. Nero hated missing out on these, so he started making decisions faster, slamming whichever cards seemed best down in the center with energy. He didn’t need to _think_ ; he’d known how to play this game since childhood!

Team Blessed Knights’ headway melted away as Pay up and Perish made good on their name, sending their marbles repeatedly back into hell. Victory slipped away from them at astounding speed, yet Nero had never cared less. He floated in a small bubble, drinking the others’ laughter, staring at Kyrie as she swept yet another of his marbles, laughing, her cheeks more and more flushed as the level of liquid in her glass lowered. She was so _beautiful_ , he’d let her send anything of his to hell.

And then Lady had all of her marbles in paradise, allowing her to play her cards directly on Kyrie’s, and everyone knew this was the beginning of the end. Credo chafed at his inability to line up his last marble into paradise and give them a chance to catch up once more. Lady kept asking him where his strategic genius and infamous luck had gone, and should she be worried about _his_ soul? And when he fumbled for a witty reply, Nero forgot basic solidarity and laughed with the girls. It earned him a glare, but he couldn’t help himself. Credo _always_ won, and if Nero had to lose once more in a long night of defeats to knock him down his pedestal, was that not a noble sacrifice? Was that not who he was at his core: the world’s sacrifice so that others could win?

A foot touched his under the table, light and delicate, and Nero’s thoughts jolted back to the present as warmth crawled up his legs. He turned to Kyrie, and her radiant smile dragged a shy one out of him. He ran his toes along her ankle, marveling at their softness.

“Nero, you’re up,” Lady said.

Nero startled, hurried for the first card in his hand, and slammed that down, scrambling to move his marble up and pretend he wasn’t flustered _at all._ Credo’s gaze wouldn’t leave him, forcing Nero to admit that one glass had left him totally intoxicated. He’d get a sermon tomorrow, no doubt. Oh well. His turn played, he poked Kyrie’s foot one last time, and returned his attention to the game, fighting the pleasant daze of alcohol.

It was too late to snatch their victory back from Team Pay Up or Perish. Lady and Kyrie worked together seamlessly, and while they couldn’t stop Credo from securing his last marble into paradise, no amount of dirty tricks on Kyrie’s last marble could keep it eternally out of its cozy space in her paradise. Lady finished the game with the same card she’d used to turn the tables on them, and as Kyrie moved the yellow marble into its final resting spot, the mercenary turned to Credo, her chin on her hand.

“Why the sour face, Captain?” she asked. “How many dinner invitations is that, I wonder?”

A surprised laugh escaped Credo. “I was unaware the stakes extended to four-player games.”

“That is not my failing. I see two teams, we stand on opposing sides, and we _are_ named Pay Up or Perish.” She lifted her empty glass in Kyrie’s direction, probably a silent thanks for the name. The girl giggled while her brother heaved a sigh.

“You would negotiate unexpected bonuses out of anything.”

It hadn’t been a question, and even had it been, Lady’s soft chuckle was the only answer needed. “I’m not sure why you seem so surprised.”

That did drag a smile out of Credo, and he finished the rest of his glass. “Honestly, neither am I. Congratulations on your victory, Lady. As Team Blessed Knights is lagging by two marbles, it would seem fair to add two new dinners to your tally?”

Lady’s eyebrows shot up. “No bonus for filling up my paradise first?”

“ _Ruthless_ ,” Credo breathed out.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she countered before raising from her seat. “It has been a wonderful evening. Kyrie—it was a pleasure to meet you, and have you as a partner. Be as relentless in life as you are with these marbles, and you can get anything you want.”

Kyrie’s entire body seemed to swell at that, and her cheeks flushed. She stammered for an answer before landing on a simple “thank you”. Under the table, her foot rubbed Nero’s and his heart jump-started. As Lady retired for the night, Kyrie smiled at him.

“We should go, too. I let Lady have my bed.”

“So you’re claiming _mine_?” Nero exclaimed. He had been dreaming of sprawling himself all across his soft mattress for weeks!

“Of course I am. Credo snores.”

“I do not,” Credo protested, and Nero had to give it to him—he really didn’t that much. Their older brother grabbed the empty glasses, clinking them together. “You go. I’ll clean up here. It helps clear the mind.”

Kyrie left Nero no chance to protest. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him along, climbing the stairs with him in tow, chatting about going back to their youth. Those times seemed so impossibly distant to him, forgotten dreams resurfacing at times, impossible to revive. Yet if anyone could bring them back—if anyone could make the world step away from him for a night—then it would be Kyrie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So which team are you: Pay Up or Perish or Blessed Knights? XD In this house, we don't do shipping, we do Tock teams!


	6. Better in Pairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quiet moments to close the night~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have some sweet sweet Nerokiri, so I got [Henna's help for this week featured art](https://twitter.com/hennatheantenna/status/1323677569955356672)! :D

Lady closed her eyes as she listened to the whispered conversations of teenagers down the hall, their voices covered in part by the soft lapping of waves against the shore some distance from the house. She hadn’t noticed how close to the sea this little home was until she’d thrown the windows open and its unique scent had drifted through. The breeze helped cool her down, clearing away some of Fortuna’s stuffy hot air.

She shouldn’t be here at all. This island’s little bubble of peace was a lie, one bought at the expense of many others’ comfort. People couldn’t easily grow fresh vegetables en masse when demons could erupt from flickering portals at any time, setting their fields ablaze or ripping through their homes. Trade had stalled, supplies vanishing from devil attacks or desperate bands of humans in-between towns. It was shit out there, but one could almost forget in this little haven. Still… it wasn’t as if Credo and Nero themselves didn’t work hard to make things better.

Credo’s pacing downstairs drifted up to her ears, along with the occasional clinking of dishes. Theirs was an old house, she thought, without proper sound isolation. He must be cleaning. _Cleaning!_

A choked laugh escaped her, almost a sob, and the wave of intense sadness washing over her took her by surprise. She released a shaky breath, leaning against the window’s side as she fought it back down. It was silly. Super silly feelings she’d rather be rid of, but which resurfaced every year, right around this day—the anniversary of Dante’s sudden disappearance.

This was the first time in the last nine years she had not made her way to the _Devil Never Cry_ ’s first office, armed with a bottle of shitty rum and memories to exorcise. She allowed herself one night a year, got herself dead-drunk, and then it was done. She set it aside and tried to forget his dumb smirk and the ease of their partnership. He’d left her his damn amulet and a note—“Gone to find him”—and that had been it. No signs of Dante after that, nothing. Lady had kept the shop rolling, taking on new jobs and waiting… then hell had broken loose, and she knew deep down she’d never see him again.

The amulet stayed with her, always in a pouch, its silver chain clinking when she ran or somersaulted. She’d abandoned the office, haunted by their time as partners in it, but kept the name. Once a year, she honoured Dante’s memory, and that was the end of it.

But not this year. This year she’d dined with a stuck-up captain from an order foolish enough to revere Sparda—a bunch of knights who’d have died inside at meeting their Saviour’s son—and she had experienced the soft, impossible safeness of family once again. It was easy, after an evening laughing with the three of them, to see what Credo loved so much about Fortuna. It left her shaken, craving for more, and she hated it. Her family was gone, her life smoldering ruins, and the rare dinner invitation could never fix that.

The clinking of dishes from below continued, and Lady wondered if she should slide out of bed and go help. Dante would have broken a dozen plates by now, forcing her to shoo him away. He thought ‘cleaning’ meant running soapless water over his grimy ass. In a way, it was good that Credo had his life together, even if that made him pissy and unbearable half the time. Working with him didn’t remind her of Dante, and even if they killed demons together, she could more easily bury the past. The future was bleak enough, she really didn’t need to dwell on her shitty past to boot.

Credo could handle himself. Lady hadn’t eaten so well or been offered such a comfortable bed in a long long time, and she intended to make the most of it, rooting herself firmly in the delicious present of sleeping deeply and soundly, just for once.

###

A calm, pleasant sensation buzzed along the back of Kyrie’s head, and she didn’t know if the glass of whisky was to blame or the way Nero had kept stealing glances at her since they’d closed his door. Her sleepwear for the night was one of his old t-shirts, and it hung loosely on her shoulders and down to the top of her legs. Nero had dug out dusty light sweatpants he never wore to bed, but Kyrie had interrupted him before he’d wasted time putting them on.

“I don’t mind if you’re only in underwear,” she stated. “It’s hot. This is your home and your bed, and you’ve been away for so long. You should make yourself comfortable.”

 _Be as relentless in life as you are with these marbles_ , Lady had said, and Kyrie—heady from her victory and empty glass—had known exactly how to apply that advice. Nero liked her. That couldn’t all be in her head. He looked at her a lot, and gave her beautiful smiles, and he’d rubbed her ankle with his toes earlier! He had been _so red_ , eyes sparkling like he couldn’t believe his luck. Those were signs, right? And maybe if she opened the door wide enough and put sparkling neon on her invitation to come in, he’d finally make a move.

So she told him to stay shirtless and pantless, and although he stammered and offered a half-hearted protest, he slipped under the blankets with nothing but a pair of clean boxers. Kyrie’s heart hammered as she followed from the other side. That was what she wanted. It totally was. They didn’t touch at all, and she could already feel his warmth. Kyrie stared at the ceiling, on her back, trying to control the exhilarating mix of fear and joy.

“Kyrie…”

She turned her head as he trailed off. There was a rawness to the way he’d said her name, yearning and terror and sadness fighting for his voice. His eyes caught the moonlight, reflecting them almost like a cat’s. She froze, breathless, enthralled by them.

“Do you think I can do it? Save the world?”

It wasn’t the first time Nero expressed doubts about his chances, but he had never asked her directly. A tightness in her throat kept her from any immediate reply. Instead, she found his hand under the covers and squeezed it.

“You will find a way, Nero.”

She didn’t say anything about Sparda’s Blessing, or his destiny. Those mattered, of course, but her faith had outgrown them. Nero would save them because that inner strength shone in him, kindness and resilience at his core.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and he closed his eyes. She thought that would be the end of it, that they would hold hands until sleep caught them, but only a minute later, Nero heaved a sigh, signaling he had more on his mind. “Every time I return home, the haven feels a little less real. Less reliable. Like one day I’ll come back from a mission and it will have been razed. I don’t know how to cling to it.”

She reached for his face, tracing his temples and cheeks slowly. Nero’s breath caught, and she wondered if his heart slammed as loud and hard as hers while she moved her finger to his chin. “Do I… do I feel real to you, Nero?”

“Always.”

Kyrie grinned at him, then quickly flopped over to put her back to him, and wiggled in the bed until she was almost flush against him. Part of her couldn’t believe she was doing this, yet it felt utterly _right_ , as if she had always belonged there. Her feet reached for Nero’s once again, as they had under the table earlier. He gasped ever so softly.

“Cling to me,” she said. “I’m real, and I’m home. Just hold me tight, Nero.” Her own voice trembled—she wanted him to do it so bad.

“K-Kyrie, I-I—”

He still hadn’t moved, so she reached backward and found his hand once more, sliding her fingers between his. “I’ll always be there for you, Nero.”

Gently, giving him all the time in the world to pull away if he really wanted to, she brought his hand and arm around her, sliding his fingers under her shirt and splaying them across her belly. A tiny squeal escaped him, and he desperately tried to muffle it in the pillow. His hand didn’t move away, though, and after interminable seconds, he pulled her closer and brought his legs against her, his lanky limbs enwrapping her.

Kyrie squeezed her eyes shut and fought the pounding of her heart. Warmth had spread from her smallest toes to the tip of her ears, and when Nero moved his nose out of the pillow and it brushed against the nape of her neck, it was all she could do to keep her own gasp down. It was all too much, and yet for all the quiet yearning of her body, she wanted the whole world to freeze and this single instant to last forever.

Nero’s thumb moved across her skin, and he squeezed her into a brief hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and those were his last words before they drifted to sleep, their bodies flush against one another, their minds content with the simple pleasure of skin on skin and the unshakeable certitude no one could truly ever part them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of our first fic!
> 
> We'll be taking a short break, so my buffer doesn't entirely vanish and I can keep giving artists time to make cool art, and I'll be back with the second fic on November 24th!


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